Revelations
by Von
Summary: Sig was sent to Haven to search for Damas' son. He found him. AU. Set between Jak II & 3. No Ships.
1. Chapter 1

Re-posted 2010 because FF.n ate all my spacing and line breaks.

This is what was going to be one big one-shot. But it got too big. So now it's a story in a few parts.

This takes place between Jak II & 3. It is AU.

Ages are based on logical guesses. I figure Jak was early 15 when captured at the start of Jak II, making him early 17 when he escaped. I then give about a year to the present point – **after** the defeat of the Baron, but **before** Ashelin has finished her rebuilding of the water slums or Veger has shown his face. So Jak is now almost/early 18 years of age.

Ships: There are none. No matter what it might look like.

_Revelations_

_Part 1_

"Sig? It's Ashelin. Do you have a moment?"

Sig's one eye flicked towards the communication device on the table.

The Wastelander was in his small home-away-from-home, a half-rotted shanty on the northern half of the Water District - as yet untouched by the new Governor's rapid rebuilding advances.

The place stank of the unclean water (sewers not accessible from here, of course) rippling below and shook in the mildest of breezes, its rotted supports barely able to take the weight.

"Right here." He answered. With any luck the redhead would be calling to ask him to help out with some more never-ending 'clean up' of lingering Metal Heads. He'd just returned from Spargus and so couldn't even pretend to justify returning there again, not so soon.

What he wouldn't give to be out in the warm sun and the fresh air.

He might have been born in Haven, but now he wanted nothing to do with it. If Damas hadn't sent him on this mission, he'd have cheerfully forgotten that the cesspit of a city had ever existed.

"Oh good, I'm glad I got you. I need a favour or two. Can you meet me down at our new HQ?"

Sig was already on his feet, checking that his knives were firmly in place before grabbing his Peacemaker and slinging it over his shoulder with practiced ease.

"There's no rush." Ashelin's voice continued "In fact, I need you do so something else first."

His hand stilled over the off switch.

"What?" He asked.

"…Have you heard from Jak lately?" The cheap machine answered evasively.

Sig frowned. _Jak?_

"No." He answered, hand returning to his side.

"Why?"

There was a pause.

"We need you to bring him to HQ with you. He.. hasn't been keeping in contact lately." Ashelin answered eventually, guardedly.

"We can get Daxter at the Naughty Ottsel, but he says that Jak spends most of his time out in the city somewhere by himself. He doesn't take his communicator with him. Normally, when we need him for something, we just leave a message at Daxter's…"

Sig's frown deepened.

"So why haven't you just done that?"

The pause was longer this time.

"Because… Daxter hasn't seen him for three days."

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_'Take hope, brave one. The darkness within you is now balanced by a glorious light.'_

Jak let his head drop back against the concrete wall of the tower. Dark blue eyes drifted over the sky, searching vainly for the familiar constellations of his childhood against the faint, smog-shrouded stars above him.

Idly, he wondered if the Precursors were out there somewhere…

If they were, they were probably laughing at him.

Snatches of voices, floating clear and sharp through the night air caught his attention. His gaze turned to the side where, on the other side of the port, a giant neon Ottsel glowed in the darkness.

His gaze locked on the grinning figure, as it nodded its head slowly towards him.

_There he is_

_The monster_

Glide down, stop with a jolt.

_Stay away, monster._

Rise slowly, jerkily.

_We don't need you anymore._

Stop with a jolt. Glide down..

_We don't want you anymore._

With a frustrated noise, the teenager wrenched his eyes away and shifted so his back was to wall on the far side. The light from behind him was hidden. The sounds of life were muted.

Now why did **that** seem familiar?

His eyes returned to the stars.

What had the precursors meant? 'Balanced by a glorious light'? He certainly didn't **feel** any different.

He looked at his hands. Just his fingers were showing out from under his gloves… But he could feel the Dark Eco inside them. Inside every inch of him.

And he hated it.

Not just the Eco, either. He hated himself for being so weak. For being captured so easily, for not fighting, for succumbing to the Baron's ministrations. For having something inside him like **this**.. something that only needed a little prodding to take control. For believing that the Precursors ever gave a damn about him.

None of this was new, however. He'd hated himself for ages.. Ever since he'd woken up and found Daxter cowering away from him.

After that, he'd hated the Baron and Errol. With an intensity that burned so strongly, he could manage to look himself in a mirror without flinching.

But now that they were dead… Now that the war was 'over'…

He didn't know what to do.

With himself, with his life…

He had no skills that were **useful** in this time, this place, except the ability to kill. And what good was that? There was no evil-minded Baron to overthrow anymore, and once the last dregs of the Metal Heads had been dealt with … there'd be nothing left.

There were plenty of signs advertising positions in 'Haven's Guard'. That'd provide a roof over his head and food on his plate, at least.

That is, if he could ever rid himself of the memories that plagued him every time he saw the uniform. If the very sight of them and the men they clad didn't make his instincts scream for blood.

And when it came right down to it… He didn't think he could just take orders like that. Not from just anyone. Not for a job. Not unless it was in his or Daxter's best interests.

He closed his eyes and sighed as a heavy rain began to fall.

Daxter.

He didn't even know how to act around him anymore. He hadn't realised it before, but somehow he'd become almost completely dependant on his best friend. Not for food or shelter or protection.. But for the invisible things that only Daxter could do.

Daxter could make him smile. Daxter could make him feel, just with his presence, that everything would be alright. Daxter not only made him feel alive, but that he had the right to _be_ alive as well. His pal did all that and more… and he, Jak, had never once stopped to consider what would happen if and when Daxter ever left his shoulder and got settled into another life. A life that didn't consist of the two of them against the world.

He swore softly, heaving his soaked body up. He'd felt like an idiot when the realization had finally hit.

'Together forever' only worked for people in love, and as much as he loved Daxter he knew that he was only a 'best friend' and as such would always take second place in Dax's life.

The life his pal seemed to have started.

A series of nimble jumps – despite the rain-slicked surfaces – landed him on the ground far below and he turned towards the Ottsel's fog-shrouded light.

Daxter had been given Krew's old joint only days after Metal Kor's defeat, and both he and Tess were working hard to turn it into an enjoyable, profitable business.

He _was_ happy for his friend, _and_ damn proud of him. It was just that he was sad as well, not to mention painfully lonely.

He'd always felt that Daxter was special, capable of understanding him like no other. That belief had only been reinforced when his furry buddy had gotten a close-up view of what he'd been turned into and yet remained by his side, _without hesitation_.

Haven had stripped him of everything but his hatred. The prison and that damned chair working between them to destroy both his hope of rescue and his belief in the goodness of people. The Dark Eco had taken its toll as well. The treatments left him scarred in both body and mind, as the destructive force tainted his feelings and twisted his recollections. Before long, he could not even retreat into his memories to escape what was happening to him, as the malevolent force within corrupted more and more of his psyche.

And then Daxter had come.

And the energy inside him had not been able to touch _him_ any more than it had the memory of him.

After that.. the last tattered shreds of his soul had fastened themselves to the furry orange anchor and without him even noticing, his best friend had become the center of his life.

He sighed and glared at the sky.

How pathetic. He might as well just wear a collar.

Dax had offered him a place to stay, of course, but he couldn't live there forever. Spending his rare sleeping hours amongst stacks of extra food supplies and bottles. Learning not to leap to his feet, weapon cocked and ready, every time Tess came in to grab something.

And lately, Dax had begun talking about how it was about time Jak 'left the nest' and 'found his own place so that he, Daxter, could come and crash _there_ for once.'

_"Get a job, Jak"_

_The ottsel was halfway up the wall, clambering through the wall-shelves looking for a particularly elusive liquor._

_Jak looked up, mug raised half-way to his lips._

_"Find something you really wanna do and go do it. You can't live here the rest of your life, ya know. Why not.."_

_His best friend kept talking, but Jak couldn't hear him any more._

That was when he'd left, with Daxter's fuzzy backside still poking out from between dusty bottles, his familiar voice dying away as the door of the pub-cum-club closed behind him.

He hadn't eaten in the last three days, but that was ok. He was well used to going without food. He'd drunk from the port water, which was technically unhealthy although the most effect it had on him was a foul taste in his mouth and a lingering headache.

At first he'd looked around, trying to find something, _anything_ to do. Some way of proving he could do more than kill and race.

Nothing. The only thing even open to someone like him, other than the Guard, was that of a heavy in Haven's established underworld. A job that revolted him almost as much as that of a Guard. He didn't want to be… a hired gun. A weapon. He didn't want to prove Praxis right.

For awhile he'd just wandered the city. Some people had recognized him. They'd hurried away, pointed or just stood and gawped. He began to despair. He couldn't, _**wouldn't**_ leech off of Daxter for the rest of his life. There had to be something he could do… _Somewhere _he would be useful.

He just had to find it.

But all the time, every second of every day, he could feel the Darkness inside.

It was getting stronger and stronger.

He hated it.

He hated himself.

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Sig frowned after the woman walking quickly away from him.

'Just bring him to HQ with you.' He thought sourly, 'Like it's that easy.'

Jak was proving more difficult to track down than the Wastelander had thought. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, though.. The kid **had **evaded capture for the entirety of the war against the Baron…

The kid had done a lot of things, in fact… Things that no other Haven citizen had ever done, at least, not any who hadn't already been exiled.

But right now, he wished the blonde wasn't quite so good at avoiding detection.

Sighing, he made his way towards the Naughty Ottsel. The club was deserted at this hour, despite the brightly lit signs and invitingly open door.

Before he entered, however, some instinct made the large man turn slightly to the left, eyes scanning the darkness of the mass of metal and wire protruding from the water. His artificial eye saw what his natural one couldn't, a small bundle of heat nestled amongst the cold pipes.

His eye wasn't the best on the market.. he'd gotten it years ago when optical implants were a still a new and risky option… but the pattern of heat _looked_ like a person… huddled in on itself.

That same instinct, honed from years of solitary operation against unpredictable sandstorms and ruthlessly sneaky Marauders, prickled against his senses.

"…Jak?"

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He blinked. One ear twitched slightly.

Slowly, his gaze turned from the rectangle of warm light across from him to the voice.

_Sig?_

The large man's silhouette was painfully familiar and with a suddenness that made him dizzy, a solution finally presented itself. Krew's wheezy voice sounded in his mind, as clear as the day he'd first spoken.

_"Ever thought about being a Wastelander?"_

He could just kick himself. Days of wandering, **hours** of sitting here and agonizing over entering his friend's place just as useless as he'd been when he'd left…

And here was the answer he'd been searching for, standing right in front of him!

In one smooth motion he reached up and gripped the pipes above him, propelling his body over the channel of water and onto the dock with almost feline grace.

"Sig." He greeted, ignoring the way his vision was trembling at the edges.

The Wastelander grinned at him. "Good to see you again Jak. And I really mean that. You're a pain to find, you know?"

Jak shrugged, shifting his gaze away.

Sig observed him, both eyes flicking over the youth for a quick check. He looked tired and slightly pale. His body wasn't emitting as much heat as normal, which was understandable if he'd been spending the last few days outside in _this_ weather..

He frowned, just slightly. His eco detectors were registering a strong pulse of the dark stuff. The readings normally bounced up into the 'supposedly lethal' area when Jak was around.. but they'd never pulsed like this… Never been this high…

Mentally shrugging, he brushed the readings off. For all he knew, this was the norm for Jak in a time where he couldn't just 'go Dark' every other day.

"Anyway, if you've got the time to spare, Ashelin wants us for a job. You up for it?"

Jak quirked a smile at the other man as the two began walking away. "Something you can't handle, big guy?"

Sig mock-scowled at him. "Keep talking, rookie." He growled. Jak's half-smile widened.

Sig glanced at him, then back at the club behind them. "No yappin' shoulder warmer today?"

To his surprise, Jak visibly stiffened. After a moment, the youth shook his head.

"No" The blonde said softly, "There's no need to drag him into this."

The Wastelander eyed him only briefly before nodding his acknowledgement. He noticed, with an internal smirk, his companion's eyes automatically tracking the hover vehicles flying overhead, a predatory look in the blue eyes.

"Hero of Haven or not, I don't think the Governor would appreciate us showing up in a stolen car, Jak." He said, a smile tugging at his lips.

The teenager shot him a slight grin and turned his own eyes back to the crowd around them.

Sig chuckled.

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"Sig! Jak! I'm glad you're here." Ashelin gave the two men a rare smile, her eyes lingering just a second longer on the younger of the two.

"And about time, too!" Samos joined in, beckoning them impatiently over to one of the minor view screens. "We need you two to do a very important job for us."

The two in question traded a look and joined the wizened old Sage by the computer.

"As you know, several of the larger Metal Heads have retained a fair bit of intelligence, despite Kor's demise." Samos continued, craning his neck to look up at them. "They've managed to gather quite a lot of the smaller Metal Heads to them, and an attack launched last week was only barely repelled. As it is, the shield wall was badly damaged and we won't be able to hold off another assault there."

Samos pointed to the screen, upon which a topographical map displayed a portion of the city wall and a great deal of wasteland beyond.

"We need you to go past the wall and out into the Wasteland, to track down the chief Metal Heads and kill them all before they can come back and tear down the wall entirely."

He turned his attention back to the fighters. "Make sure you find their nest and destroy every last one." He turned to the blonde. "Jak, Sig has made his livelihood in the Wasteland for many years. Listen to him and _don't get lost_. You will need his expertise, if you want to stay alive."

Jak rolled his eyes as he and Sig turned to go. Sig saw it and grinned down at him.

"That's right rookie, make sure you don't let go of my hand, now."

His grin widened as the teen scowled at him and the words 'rip it off' emerged from the irritated mutterings.

Mar help him, but he liked this kid.

Five hours later his opinion of his young friend had only risen.

The two of them had been trekking through the Wasteland on foot for four hours now, the uncovered sun beating down far harsher than it ever had in Haven.

Despite this, to Sig's surprise and approval, Jak kept pace and didn't breathe a word of complaint.

"You're tougher than you look." He said at last, as the two of them stopped briefly in the shade of a lone rock. Jak just shrugged as he slowly swirled a small amount of water inside his mouth, a technique of staving off thirst and conserving water that Sig had been planning to teach him.

Now where had the kid learned that?

"Of course, that's not hard." He continued, a slight grin on his face as he opened his own water container. "With all that girly hair of yours."

He cheerfully took a sip of water as his companion shot him a dark look.

Being out of the city always improved his mood. And right now, off to hunt down some bad-ass Metal Heads with not only a good gun at his side but also a good friend…

He was feeling pretty damn fine.

_This_ was the life of a Wastelander. Not spying amongst a bunch of self-obsessed, worthless idiots but _out here_ in the sun and the sand! Not that he'd ever go against King Damas's orders.. the man held his loyalty as much as his friendship, after all…

But damn, it was good to get out once in awhile…

The two men rested in silence for a few minutes, Jak watching the desert as Sig watched him.

It was rare to be in the blonde's company without some form of noise going on, whether it be gunfire or the rat chattering incessantly. Now that neither was present, Sig had time to focus his full attention on the Haven boy who fought like he'd been raised in the Wasteland and raced like he'd been born in the stadium.

Once again, the nagging sense of familiarity itched at his senses.

Which was stupid, of course. He'd known Jak for just under a year now, and there were few others who he'd rather have at his back in a fight. In fact, of all the Wastelanders he knew, there was only one. Damas.

He frowned speculatively. Maybe that was it. There were some things that Jak did or said that just reminded him of his old friend. Like now. The look on the kid's face as he gazed out at the wasteland was almost frighteningly like that of Damas, when the King stood looking out over Spargus.

Focused. Pensive. Determined.

He blinked as Jak's head suddenly snapped up, blue eyes searching for something amongst the shifting sands.

"Sig, there's something out there. A Metal Head. Feels…" The youth shifted, unconsciously drawing his weapon. "Different." He finished, slightly frustrated.

Sig was already on his feet, artificial eye scanning the area his partner had indicated. Sure enough, there was the blip of another life force hand-in-hand with the Dark Eco readings that indicated a Metal Head.

"Nice catch, Jak. This puppy'll lead us right to the nest. Stay sharp, we don't want to fall over any and give away our position."

Jak just nodded as the two of them set off.

"You know, you're pretty useful." Sig commented. "All you'd need are some new threads and a haircut and you'd make a passable Wastelander."

Jak glanced at him, eyes unreadable.

"You think so?" He asked, voice colored with some emotion that Sig couldn't quite place.

He shrugged. "Sure."

The teen turned his gaze back to the desert. For a long moment there was only the sound of the wind until, so soft as to be on the cusp of hearing;

"Thanks."

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"Oh…. Sweet sonofa yakkow…"

Jak grimaced his agreement. He and Sig had followed the giant pack-animal-type Metal Head to a small collection of sun-scorched, wind-smoothed rocks. At first, they hadn't understood why the beast had stopped there. The stones weren't overly large – the biggest one was barely the size of the creature they tracked.

After only a moment, however, there was a grinding sound that was felt through the soles of their feet more than through their ears and with a juddering shower of sand, the stones had begun to _move_.

That was when they saw that the stones weren't stones at all… But extensions of some kind of **huge** underground Metal Head. The limbs had opened like a purposeful flower, reforming to create a dark tunnel that went down into the earth.

Of course, with barely time for a grin at each other, the two elves had bolted across the remaining distance and dived in after their prey. The creature hadn't noticed, it's single-minded brain driving it onwards despite the two foreign beings that had clambered onto its back and hidden amongst the precious cargo of eggs.

After almost ten minutes of lumbering progress, they'd finally reached the end of the tunnel and emerged into a dimly-lit cave of enemy activity.

Peering carefully out from their hiding places, they'd set eyes on what Ashelin and Samos had sent them into.

It wasn't so much that the cave was _big_, but rather that _every damn inch_ of it was coated in eggs. Floor, walls and ceiling. Thin paths crisscrossed the huge area, over which the scorpion and dog-like Metal Heads crawled over each other like mindless ants. The spider-like creatures moved slowly amongst the eggs, presumably tending to them, and the air was thick with all manner of flying types. Barely visible in the crush of bodies were a few isolated staff-wielding Metal Heads moving through their kindred like overseers… or guards…

Jak swallowed with more than a little difficulty. The Metal Heads seemed to blot in and out of existence, as his deprived body fought to stay operative.

"We.. we need to find somewhere to get down." He muttered, trying to force his vision to work through sheer force of will. "A high, sheltered place, if we want to stand a chance."

He felt Sig's gaze rest on him, though the other man simply murmured agreement. If he'd noticed his short dizzy spell, he wasn't saying anything about it.

A brush against his arm made him glance back at the Wastelander. Sig's tanned face nodded past him, as the green eye flicked upwards. Jak followed the gaze, noticing –after a moment, as his eco-altered eyes strained to see what Sig's artificial eye had spotted so easily – a dip in the rows of eggs, a shadow of a hidden cave. He nodded back at the man.

As soon as they came to a less-populated area, they'd slip down and try to make their way to it. From there…

He almost laughed at the ludicrousness of it all.

From there, they'd stage an attack upon the Metal Heads, hoping to pick off the biggest ones – their primary targets – before the rest of the creatures swarmed them.

The corner of his lips twitched downwards.

This favour to Ashelin was turning out to be suicide.

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_Shit__**shit**__shitSHIT_

The plan hadn't gone too smoothly. They'd dropped down from the Metal Head amongst a patch of large eggs – more than big enough to hide their bodies standing up – but hadn't made three steps before a flying creature spotted them and dove to attack.

Jak had noticed Sig's automatic reaction – aiming his weapon for a shot that would undoubtedly bring the rest of the bastards down on them at once – so he leapt forwards to smash the creature to the ground with the butt of his own gun. The Metal Head squealed as it hit the floor, but the noise was lost amongst the grunts and snarls of its companions.

Sig had given him a thankful and understanding nod, before stepping forward to crush the crippled enemy underfoot.

That was when everything went to hell.

The death of the creature resulted in little goblets of Dark Eco – as usual – some of which leapt immediately up and into his body – causing an unwelcome ripple of pain and almost shorting his exhausted body out – and some of which had fallen against the large eggs, making them glow a dark purple instead of green.

This was clearly noticed by one of the tenders (in the half-light, it would have been hard NOT to notice) and the spider Metal Head had scuttled up before he or Sig could find cover.

The moment it saw the two of them it opened fire, unheeding of the eggs it was destroying in the process. The attack drew the attention of almost every other Metal Head, causing a swarm of lethal intent.

They made the cave, at least, but they were in serious trouble.

Without words, they'd fallen into a pattern. Jak kept the –thankfully small – mouth of the cave covered with his scatter gun, blasting a wall of energy that succeeded in killing the scorpion and wasp-like MHs and knocking back most of the other types. Sig had set himself against the stone wall and just slightly behind Jak, repeatedly powering up his Peacemaker and firing at the larger threats before they could get too close – they were too heavy to be knocked back by Jak's current weapon.

It was working for now, but they were both rapidly running out of ammo, and whilst he still had three other types of Morph Gun to use – including his own less equipped Peacemaker – Sig would be down to only his backup gun. A one-shot-at-a-time relatively weak weapon attached to his Peacemaker's underside.

And all the while, Dark Eco was pooling outside the cave, trickling upwards to merge with his body, crackling inside his skull and messing with his senses.

Apparently Sig noticed that something was wrong with him, because – as he rapidly reloaded his Peacemaker – the Wastelander took the time to frown at him.

"You okay Jak? You look like you're about to collapse."

Jak gritted his teeth and kept firing.

"It's the Eco." He ground out. "I can't stop it from… coming into me… I can't take much more before I... loose control."

He heard Sig swear softly, no doubt remembering the stories that circulated about the 'Dark Eco Freak'. Before now, the big man had never seen Jak 'go Dark' but it was beginning to look like he'd have a front row seat, right here and now.

He didn't have much time. He could already feel his body changing, fighting (and winning) against his will.

Quickly, he fired another scatter shot then switched the weapon to Peacemaker mode and blasted the closest Metal Heads. The energy fanned out, taking a sizable chunk of the close-up creatures with it, giving Jak enough time to shove the weapon into Sig's hands and leap out of the cave.

"Stay hidden for as long as you can!" He ordered, straining to stay in control. "If I come after you, don't hesitate to take me down." He heard Sig begin to protest and turned slightly with a snarl, canines lengthening. "Damnit Sig! You're probably the only damn person I actually give a fuck about, so don't make me wake up to see your corpse! Please!"

He cried out as his muscles tore themselves apart and reformed much stronger. He pushed away from the cave, staggering down to the knee-high pile of Dark Eco. He tried desperately to retain some sense of self, but there was too much darkness and he was too damn thin...

The last thing he saw was a mass of Metal Heads launching themselves at him.

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_So __**this**__ is Dark Jak._

The rumors weren't a patch on the real thing. He'd always thought them to be exaggerated, as rumors often were, but **damn**…

He'd never asked the quiet blonde about it. It wasn't something you just started a conversation about over a mug of ale, and besides… He'd always just figured the kid went into a kind of berserker mode – as sometimes happened, to Wastelanders in particular - and it therefore wasn't any of **his** business.

But the monster down there – having far too much fun to simply be a berserker – was far worse than the tales he'd heard.

It had been minutes now, the Metal Heads having left him entirely alone in favour of Jak, and the teenager showed no sign of letting up. He'd heard that the transformation was a temporary thing, but if it was triggered by over-dosing on Dark Eco than it was entirely possible that Jak wouldn't be back to normal for weeks.

Every monster he tore through, every batch of eggs he hurled corpses into, bled more Dark Eco. Mostly it just lay on the ground like a low-lying fog, but whenever the Dark monster used copious amounts in frighteningly powerful energy attacks, the stuff lying around just surged towards him, like he was a living magnet.

On the upside, Sig now had no doubt that Ashelin's mission would be completed.

On the downside, he was beginning to wonder if either of them would make it back alive to report.

'Cause there was no way in hell he would leave Jak here, Dark or not. There was a lot to be said for loyalty amongst friends and comrades, and Jak was both.

That being said, he had no idea how the fuck he was going to manage it. Dark Jak was _slaughtering _creatures far stronger than he, Sig, was. He had Jak's Morph Gun, obviously given to him in order to defend himself from Dark Jak rather than any puny Metal Heads.

But what could he do with it? Shoot the kid's legs out and hope they weren't irreparably damaged? Blast him with the Peacemaker mod (slightly less powerful than his own staff-like weapon) and hope the charge knocked him out rather than killed him?

He was running out of time to think, Dark Jak had finished off most of the Metal Heads and the remaining weak ones were fleeing through tiny holes in the large cavern walls. He could see the monster breathing harshly as it looked from side to side, seeking new prey.

Maybe, if he was lucky, Dark Jak wouldn't remember he was here and he could just wait it out.

Pitch black orbs, crackling with barely-held dark power, snapped over to him.

_Damn. _

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One of the most frightening things about losing control entirely, is that there is no 'seeing but unable to interact' element to it. I am not just unaware during one of those 'episodes'…for the entire time that my Dark self takes over…. I cease to be.

And every time it happens, it could be the last. It's like dying over and over again.

I used to half-believe the old stories about our spirits – our essence - joining the precursors in the heavens. Now I know better. There **is** no essence, no spirit. We only have our bodies, which shape us entirely and when they break – that's it.

That being said, it doesn't seem like this is that time. At least, not for me. No doubt the world has been deprived of several Metal Heads (and _only_ Metal Heads, I hope) and what a loss _that_ is, but **I** am still thankfully, selfishly, alive.

And - I belatedly realise - in a surprising amount of pain.

Oh gods… I think I'd somehow managed to forget that it could get this bad…

…Figures…

I cough. The effort is pathetically weak, echoing the way the rest of me feels.

What the hell happened this time? It's never been this bad before.

For a moment, ghost memory flits across the back of my body, reminding me of what it feels like to have solid cold steel cutting into my wrists and ankles. I wrench my eyes open with a sharp breath that sends knives through my lungs.

I can't see, my eyes are watering too badly, trying to get the damn blood out of them. My limbs are sluggish, too sluggish….

_Cold and hard… wet with my own blood, but always cold and stinging with the Dark Eco that taints it…_

No, no… The chair.. the chair was a long time ago…

_Then why the __**fuck**__ can't I __**move**__!_

"Easy… easy there… it's alright Jak… it's over."

That voice… I know that voice…

"You're ok… We're both ok. We're out, in the desert now. We're safe, just relax. I got your six."

The panic is subsiding, soothed by the voice that I can't quite place… Ghost memory plays with my senses again, but I'm already too far gone to react… oblivion beckons and I only put up a half-hearted fight before I succumb to it once more.

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The horizon was thick and dark, one of the Wasteland's feared – and rightfully so – sandstorms was on the way.

Sig hissed at the timing and turned back to the Oasis, the clear water stained with dark blood.

Beside it, Jak's limp form bled steadily through his makeshift bandages. Every now and then a tremor would wrack the thin body, further agitating wounds that refused to clot.

And that wasn't all. The Dark Eco had damaged something inside the teen, something Sig couldn't help. Not out here, and especially not in the state he himself was in.

Dark Jak had whooped him so badly, he was astonished he was still alive. He knew he probably wouldn't be, if Dark Jak hadn't already been so over-exposed to the Dark stuff.

_I guess even monsters have limits._

Dark Jak had been half-kneeling on him, one clawed hand wrapped around his throat and the other poised for the final killing blow… when he'd just stopped dead. Pain appeared on the pale face for the first time, a strangled half-scream wrenching its way out of him, as his body crackled weakly with Dark Eco… and collapsed.

With shaking limbs, Sig had retrieved their weapons and hauled the other man up, slinging his trembling – still half transformed – body over his shoulder.

He didn't really remember his exhausted trek through the tunnel to the outside world (the entrance having been left open after the stampede of fleeing Metal Heads). He did remember all but collapsing into the Oasis that his feet must have led him to by memory. He remembered stripping Jak of most of his clothes to make bandages with. He remembered his shock at seeing his friend's muscular, yet dangerously underweight body - like a weapon that hadn't been taken care of. Powerful, but liable to break sooner or later.

And now, just to add to his problems, he had to somehow find shelter for both himself and Jak from a sandstorm. It looked like a nasty one, too. The oasis was partially sheltered – as evidenced by the palm trees – but it wouldn't suffice. Especially not in their conditions.

No.. he really only had one option. It'd mean breaking one of Spargus' biggest laws – an offence generally punishable by banishment – but he didn't have a lot of choices.

Stay out here and die for certain, or take Jak into Spargus (where the kid would at least have the chance to prove himself worthy to stay – something Sig had no doubt that Jak could do) and have himself probably be condemned to live in Haven – working for the criminal underground – for the rest of his life.

No choice at all, really.

Decision made, he pulled out his beacon and hit the switch. The sandstorm looming on the horizon would be here quickly, already the wind was picking up, but he knew he was close enough to Spargus to outrun it - if whoever Damas sent to pick him up had chosen a fast vehicle.

Pocketing the device - which would now continue to transmit until it either connected with the negator back at the Spargus gate or it ran out of power a couple of hundred years from now – he limped over to Jak to check on him again.

The sand around the boy was now also stained red, but it did seem as if the bandages were beginning to work. At least he could no longer see the vital liquid trickling over the Haven boy's pale skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the strap holding Jak's pouch was sliced nearly through and so – with the Wastelander mindset of 'waste not want not'- reached down to transfer the items it may contain to his own – more secure – pouch.

As he tipped the small collection of items onto his hand – mostly scraps of old used credit chips, key cards, a few odd-looking things and a bit of loose ammo – his breath caught in his throat.

Amongst the pitifully small clutter of possessions, shone a familiar rounded red stone.

The seal of the House of Mar.


	2. Chapter 2

Yess! Confirmation has come! According to the driver profiles of Jak X, Jak from J&D is 15 years old, 17 in Jak II and 18 in Jak 3. (And 19 in Jak X).

Fantastic. Now I have a 'real' timeframe, instead of what just sounds right.

So.. Ashelin's Age (As of Jak X) 24, Razor 31, Kleiver 51, Keira 18, Torn 30, Sig 28, Rayn 20, Dax 19, Pecker -118. Hmm.

I just want to reassure people:

**THERE ARE NO SHIPS IN THIS STORY.**

Although I do vaguely prefer Ashelin to Keira (Ashelin being a little more accepting and having a lot more backbone) I don't particularly like the idea of tying Jak down. So don't worry if you read anything about anyone liking anyone else. It's just… hormones talking.

I finished Daxter! (Didn't take too long)

It was lovely.. but. I must say I was disappointed. All the loose ends it promised to tie up.. all the possibilities.. and it was basically a stand-alone platformer only mentioning the Jak series when it absolutely had to.

Not Happy, Naughty Dog.

Speaking of Daxter, some elements of that will be incorporated into this story. That means possible SPOILERS in this chapter and beyond.

Revelations

Part 2

"You don't have _anythin'_? Then what the hell were yer doin' out here?"

Sig glared at the man but didn't respond. To open his unprotected mouth right now would mean he'd be spitting sand for the next week.

The storm was raging, its fringes only just buffeting their moderately heavy vehicle but with more than enough force to flip them in an instant of inattention.

Sig wished the other Wastelander would damn well concentrate on keeping their skins intact instead of whining about the lack of spoils.

Generally, Wastelanders who needed rescuing automatically forfeited a part of their findings as payment to the Rescuer. Whether it be artefacts found in the sands or amour, weapons & hides picked up off the corpses of Metal Heads and Marauders alike – you paid the Wastelander who risked his hide to save yours.

Normally, Sig'd have more than enough to pay the man – especially having come from such a store of Metal Head corpses. Unfortunately though, he'd been too preoccupied with getting himself and Jak **out** of the place to loot it as well.

No, the only thing of any value on him right now were his and Jak's weapons – something no Wastelander in his right mind would part with – and a certain medallion that he still couldn't quite believe he'd found.

What the hell was Jak – of all people – doing with it? Where had he gotten it? Did he know the kid? Had he found it on the street? Or had he been paid with it by someone who'd stolen it from the child?

These questions and more raced through his mind, chasing impossible and ridiculous theories and guesses. Sig gritted his teeth and readjusted his hold on Jak's alarmingly cold body.

It was frustrating to finally have found a lead, after more than two years of fruitless searching and be unable to investigate it.

Patience was a necessity in a Wastelander, something Sig prided himself on.

His questions could wait.

He just hoped Damas didn't kick him out before Jak woke up.

He didn't want to get his old friend's hopes up. The King's one weakness was his son – something few people knew – and it would tear him apart to have potential information dangled tantalisingly in front of him.. especially if Jak awoke and could provide no help.

No, he'd keep his discovery to himself for now and simply beg Damas to let him stay in Spargus - at least until Jak recovered.

…**If** Jak recovered…

J&D J&D J&D

"Hey Red, what's sizzlin'? It must be me, 'cause you are _hawt_."

Ashelin quirked a small smile, now used to the ottsel's flirting. These days it was habit only, the critter being firmly in Tess' camp.

Species difficulties aside…

Besides, the lack of leer and wink betrayed the orange furball. He was worried – really, genuinely afraid – for his friend and the hope in his eyes was almost enough to make her go soft.

Almost. She was no giggling, cooing girly girl like… well, Tess.

"Hi Daxter. I can't stay long, I've got a meeting to attend – some petty Lord named Veger keeps trying to stir up trouble – but I thought you'd like to know what's happening with Jak."

The ottsel visibly brightened.

"Ya found him! Where was that big idiot? And why didn't you call?"

The ottsel's indignant pose suddenly turned sly.

"Oooooh, I geddit… You and Jak were.. ah… 'busy', am I right? 'Officially'? Huh?"

Ashelin put her hands on her hips and attempted to glare at the unrepentant animal. It was difficult though, as she had been thinking along the same lines for awhile now.

…Which was off-balancing enough, thanks. It was bad enough finding herself fantasizing about a guy years her junior – especially with all the complications she and Torn were having, not to MENTION the fact that she was _almost_ certain that a big part of her feelings were a very immature 'hero worship' combined with hormones – so she certainly didn't need some pint size talking rat's innuendoes on top of it all.

"Look, do you wanna know, or not?"

He shut up.

"Jak and Sig are off on a mission right now, in the Wasteland. They should be back by tomorrow."

"What?" The ottsel yelped. "Without ME!"

Ashelin rolled her eyes, completely missing the look of genuine hurt and confusion on the animal's face.

"I guess he figured he could do without your help." She answered, semi-sarcastically. After all, it was obvious that however much Jak held the ottsel in esteem, it really was the guy with the gun doing all the work. And probably most of the thinking, too.

"Anyway, I'll either call you when he gets back, or I'll tell him to drop by the bar, ok?" She said over her shoulder, as she left.

Daxter just stared at the closing door.

"Without me?" He whispered.

J&D J&D J&D

"His body is very badly damaged, King Damas. I don't understand how he can be radiating so much Dark power, yet still be breathing."

Sig stood quietly at the side of Damas' throne, as his liege held counsel with the monk healer in charge of Jak's recovery.

He'd yet to make a full report as he'd near-begged the man to let him ensure the boy's survival first.

Damas – though clearly shocked at his attitude to an obvious Havenite – had nevertheless agreed. He respected his old friend enough to help first and ask questions later.

Though when the time came, Sig knew full well that those questions would be some extremely hard ones.

Therefore he was only keeping half an ear on the conversation between the monk and the King. Most of his concentration was taken up in ferocious contemplation of just **what** to tell the man.

He had already reported on Jak, of course. The kid had struck him as the type who'd not only make waves, but would then blissfully surf down them as other people were swallowed whole by the destruction. His reports had grown in both frequency and content, as Jak became a more integral part in the battle against the Baron.

That was good. Hopefully, their prior discussions about him would help to sway Damas to be lenient on his own crime of bringing him to Spargus without permission.

There was a reason they were proud of being 'The forgotten ones'.

As long as Haven didn't know they or their city existed, they had a measure of protection. That was why the laws against bringing in outsiders were so strict…

There was also the fact that Damas had seemed intrigued whenever he'd mentioned Jak in his reports. Sig knew his old friend well, and had suspected that it was only a matter of time before the King had made the rare decision to sound a Havenite out for induction into Spargus. That would work in his favour.

But a law broken was still a crime, no matter how agreeable Damas may feel towards the person in question.

And if **that** wasn't bad enough, there was still the matter of the seal to consider.

_Why had Jak possessed it!_

And what should he tell Damas? He'd already pretty much decided to omit the information unless absolutely necessary… He needed to know more. He needed to talk to Jak.

But it was beginning to sound like that might never happen.

Damas was looking grim, as the monk basically summarised that they couldn't do anything more for the boy, except pray. And they didn't think anything other than Precursor intervention would save him… The Darkness inside him was literally eating away at his body and soul.

Hearing his name, the Wastelander looked up.

"Sig, how did it happen?" Damas asked, as the monk looked on – the healer was clearly also curious.

"His injuries?"

"No, the Darkness inside him." The monk answered for the King. "It's similar to Eco-poisoning.. But it's not attacking him the same way.. it's like it's a part of him, accepted inside him, even as it harms him."

Sig frowned. He had referred briefly to the rumours of the kid's berserker mode, in previous reports, but he hadn't known until today just how powerful they were… And he still had no idea how they'd originated. He could only tell them what little he knew.

"I don't know how it came about." He stated flatly "But Jak seems able to take Dark Eco into himself and use it to fight." He heard Damas draw a sharp breath.

"This is Jak? The one you told me about?" The man asked, surprise on his face.

Belatedly, Sig realised that he hadn't actually yet **told** the man just who he'd dragged into the city.

"Oh. Yes, he is." He answered, hiding his momentary embarrassment.

Damas turned to look at the slim young man. Jak was wrapped in blankets on the floor, by one of the large windows. The monks had brought him with them, and were apparently turning him over to Damas now that they could do no more for him.

"He's so young." Damas observed, surprise colouring his voice. "How old is he?"

"I.. don't know." Sig answered. "It never came up."

"Regardless, there is much darkness in him." The monk interrupted. Something seemed to be agitating him. "If he somehow manages to survive it… We would not welcome him here. He is dangerous."

Sig barely held himself back from snorting. _You have no idea_ he thought darkly, feeling his own wounds stinging slightly. He had let the monks believe that he'd received them from Metal Heads.

"Hmm." Damas murmured to himself, clearly not so quick to fear or reject the potential danger. "Thank you for your help." He added, a clear dismissal. The monk bowed his head and left.

There was a short silence, as the King studied Jak's sweating, shaking form.

_Here it comes_ Sig thought to himself, discreetly bracing for his impending eviction from Spargus.

"Sig. I want you to return to Haven, as soon as you can." Damas ordered.

Sig's shoulders sagged in resignation, just slightly.

"Find out as much as you can about Jak. I know about his character and fighting ability from you.. Now find out where he comes from, what his background is… how he became the way he is. When you know as much as possible, return to me and report. If he wakes, I will ask him myself… Perhaps… his darkness is not necessarily bad. He is powerful, and that could be very useful in the coming times. If he is as trustworthy as you have indicated, then we shall see."

Sig blinked. A mission? He wasn't being thrown out on his ass?

Damas had turned to him now, one eyebrow raised in question.

Oh well. He wasn't one to look a gift-yakkow in the mouth.

"Yes sir." Sig nodded, as he turned to leave.

It wasn't until he reached the ground floor that his brain clicked.

This was perfect! His mission tied in with his own need to discover more about Jak's reason for holding the Seal of Mar. And if the monks were correct and Jak was likely to remain out of commission for awhile…

His face darkened in worry.

The monks had said that they couldn't understand how he was still alive.

"_If he somehow manages to survive…"_

His face set in a glare.

No. Jak was a tough bastard. He'd survive. This kind of thing had supposedly happened to him before, after all…

Nevertheless…

He walked over to the window of the 'undercover' transport that the Wastelanders used to travel inconspicuously to Haven City. He banged on the side until the pilot opened a window and stuck his head out.

"I'll need a pick up, exactly one week from now." Sig informed the man, who nodded sharply and retreated inside the air-conditioned cab. Sig climbed into the transport area and sat down.

As the vehicle gained height, he began to plan out who he'd talk to… and what kind of questions he could ask, without raising suspicion as to just _why_ he was asking.

He groaned.

Then there was his report for Ashelin. She knew of Damas' existence, and that he commanded a band of fellow exiles… but she had no idea of the city of Spargus, or the true extent of Damas' people, forces and resources. And he had no intention of enlightening her.

Hmm. Tricky.

But nothing he couldn't handle.

J&D J&D J&D

Damas' eyes shifted from the reports in his hands to the body on the ground to his right. It had been just over four days since he'd sent Sig back to Haven, and the youth hadn't stirred once. His shivering had ceased, though Damas wasn't certain if this was a good sign or… if his body had simply not the strength to continue it.

He'd shifted the boy – on the second day - so that he could keep an eye on him when sitting on his throne and dealing with day-to-day business, but had been careful to ensure that the sunlight spilling through the huge windows still reached the pale youth.

His skin _was_ darker than that of most Havenites, but only barely. It was probably genetic. The pollution in Haven City (Which had been worsened dramatically by Praxis, as the man sought to increase industrial work tenfold, yet ignored the inevitable waste products.) was such that the sun's rays simply did not penetrate enough to tan even the citizens who worked in the farmlands - which was the most regularly air-cleansed section of the city.

An unfortunate by-product of having the teen within glancing distance was that he found it difficult to take his eyes off him. From Sig's reports he'd pictured the man (Sig had never given any indication that he thought of Jak as anything less) to be.. well, older. At the point in his life when one truly begins to look at the world around them and decides to make a difference.

It was difficult to reconcile his impressions of skilled warrior, bitter with hate and bad experiences yet still reliable and honourable – with this slender, wounded youth.

He looked slightly older now, at least. His long, blood-soaked hair had been hacked off by the monks, making it easier to clean and tend the cuts on his head and neck. But he still looked much too young to be of any use to anyone – especially the Underground.

But then… apparently he'd had been the one to do what he, Damas, could not. He'd saved Haven City, both from the outside threat of Metal Heads and the internal threats of both Praxis and Krew.

So then, he was certainly talented and could be very useful. Assuming he was open to the idea of becoming a Wastelander, of course. He was no longer being hunted by the Haven military, so Spargus had little to offer him in the way of refuge. And, since Sig had brought him here unconscious, then by law, he didn't owe Spargus anything.

Frowning deeply, Damas attempted to turn his attention back to the reports in his hand. Whilst a great deal of Wastelanders were having large drunken parties in celebration of Praxis' downfall, he and a handful of more politically-aware outcasts were frantically planning and attempting to predict what would happen within Haven now.

The lack of Praxis was, of course, a good thing. For both Haven and Damas' own sakes. But in a city ruled by corruption, merely removing the tip of the boil was not enough. Other cockroaches would scramble in the vacuum of power, each trying to take Praxis' place. The possibility that one could be worse.. well, it was almost a given. Especially now that most funds were no longer needed for the war.

Praxis had had only one good point. He **was** genuinely committed to destroying the Metal Heads, even though he lacked the men and skill to do so.

But now.. Any man or woman who took his place could well turn their attentions to exploration, to expansion. They would no longer be content to live in the festering sore that Haven City had become.

And THAT put Spargus at risk.

Hmm. It _could_ also put Jak at risk. No new leader would suffer the existence of a man seen by most has a hero and by others as an enemy of the Government. The fact that he'd destroyed both the Metal Head leader AND Praxis would spur them to action, fearful of his attentions turning towards them.

His eyes drifted back to the blond. Perhaps _that_ consideration would sway him to joining Spargus. If he thought as well of Sig as Sig clearly thought of him, then he may accept the Wastelander's advice and accept Spargus as his new home.

Any further speculation was abruptly halted, as the object of his scrutiny stirred slightly, then awoke.

J&D J&D J&D

The first thing I felt was relief.

I was still here. I still existed. I was still me.

The second thing I felt was a combination of emotions and sensations that I had not known for over three years.

Warm. Safe. Home.

For a moment, I had the fleeting thought that I'd been wrong, all this time. There **was** an after-life, and this was it.

Unfortunately, the painful prickling sensation of Dark Eco – which managed to hurt regardless of whether it was overloaded or depleted - cut that fantasy off at the knees.

Doing my best to ignore it, I opened my eyes,

Damn, it was bright. It was a few seconds before I could see through the rich honey-like beams of sunlight that surrounded me.

Eventually though, my vision cleared and I found myself locking eyes with a man whose face was so welcomingly familiar that I didn't even try to reach for a weapon. Instincts engrained through constant hardship and danger, instincts that had saved my life many times, now seemed curiously dormant. All I could do was stare… and strain to remember this man. Somehow… I _knew_ him. He was… important to me.

"King Damas?"

Both of us blinked, startled from our - seemingly mutual - trance.

Standing to the right was another stranger, one who cast me a foreboding look before turning to speak with the man seated on the throne.

Wait… King?

It was a struggle to think straight. I always feel worn and weak in the aftermath of a Dark Jak episode, but for some reason it was much worse than usual. My head felt thick and slow. My body was lethargic and without strength – I could tell that sitting up would be difficult... assuming I managed it at all. The Dark Eco inside seemed fortunately subdued – possibly by the warmth that surrounded me. Whatever the reason, I was thankful. For some reason, I had the strangest feeling that my latest episode had been worse than usual. That the withdrawal I was feeling should be much worse than it was….

Involuntarily, my left hand half-closed.

Ghost sensation skittered over my palm.

_Warm skin, slick with blood._ _A pulse, beating frantically under my fingertips._

I frowned, straining to remember. I must have attacked someone! Who?

_One green eye, like the forests of Sandover, slitted against the pain._

"Sig!" I cried, adrenaline rushing through my body like a cold flood, lending me strength to cast off my blanket and stagger to my feet.

My gaze flicked over the room again, this time taking it all in with the enhanced senses that Praxis had 'bestowed' me with.

There was.. the King man. And the smaller stranger – both of who were now looking at me with assessing expressions - a lot of water and sunlight.. but no Sig.

I turned to the King, swallowing the panic as I tried to remember what had happened.

"Is Sig alright? What happened?" I demanded.

"It's not your place to-" The speaker, a strangely-garbed man with what seemed to be a permanent sneer on his face, shut right up at the look I shot him.

I turned back to the King, but he was already standing. To my half-conscious amazement, my body didn't even flinch as the large man caught and held my arm. Belatedly, I realised that he was steadying me. He was speaking too, and I struggled to pay attention through the exhaustion and shock.

Was I really that out of it that I'd let a complete stranger touch me? Or were my instincts actually functioning properly and this really was a man I could trust?

_Focus Jak. Analyse your messed up self __**after**__ you find out if you murdered the one good thing Haven city had shown you._

"Sig is fine." The man was saying calmly. Apparently he'd been repeating the words until I finally managed to make eye contact with him and he was satisfied that I understood.

I stared. I couldn't help myself. Despite the worry over Sig's possible fate, all I could focus on were his eyes… They were so warm. So reassuring. Unlike any I could recall… and not for lack of trying. I _knew_ this man! I did! But… from where? When? How?

"Jak?"

I blinked, slowly, and tried to wrestle my distracted thoughts into semi-coherency.

I must just be wiped from the Eco overdose. I must be.

I've never met this man before in my life.

"Sig?" I coughed out, needing reassurance. The man's lip twitched into a half-smile, as though something about my rambling shaking self was amusing him.

Somehow though… the thought didn't make me angry… not even a little.

"He's **fine**." The man emphasised, ducking his head a little in order to maintain eye contact. My own treacherous body was weaving and shaking so much I could barely keep my head up.

"He's brought you to his home in the Wasteland. We will take care of you until he returns."

An affronted sound caught both of our attention. The second man, who I'd almost forgotten about, was glaring at me as he said something to the King. I couldn't make out what he was saying - it sounded warped, like he was speaking underwater - but I knew that look on his face. I'd had it directed at me non-stop for the past two years.

Disgust. Distrust. Dislike.

Automatically, I snarled back at him. I was in no condition to fight him, so my best bet lay in intimidation. In that instant, I felt more like an animal than I had since Praxis first started work on me. So it came as no surprise when the Darkness inside me crackled ever-so-weakly and my fangs pushed painfully through.

It was worth the painful discomfort though, for the look on his face.

That's it, _run_ you bastard.

The other voice came back. Still warm. Still reassuring.

Had he not seen what I'd just done?

With Herculean effort, I craned my neck up to look at him again. The half-smile was stronger than before and despite my searching, I could see no hint of fear or hatred in his eyes.

In the depths of my own confusion, I felt my fangs sink back into their original forms.

He spoke again. I still couldn't make out the words, but somehow – I understood him.

_Sleep Jak. I will watch over you._

And, incredibly.. I believed him.

J&D J&D J&D

It was raining in Haven city. Heavy droplets that tasted foul – thanks to the pollution – and were just as bad for his artificial eye as they were for his original one.

Sig paused under an overhead walkway and leaned back against the wall, hidden deep in shadow.

His mission in Haven wasn't turning out so well. It seemed like no-one knew anything about their saviour, not even the Underground.

Absently watching the crowd before him, he focused on what he _had_ found out.

According to Torn, Jak was the only survivor of some insane scheme of the Baron's. Titled; 'The Dark Warrior Program'. Plenty of victims of all ages had been subjected Praxis' experiments, and only Jak had come out alive. Torn himself had left just after Praxis had begun his sick work, and had only known Jak for what he was weeks after meeting him – when rumours of the prison escapee had circulated hand-in-hand with the rumours of Jak's 'Dark' self.

He hadn't known anything about the medallion. He _had_ however, suggested he try Jak's friends, for more personal information.

Not in those words, of course. The new commander of the Krimzon Guard had been weighed down with paperwork and was about four times as irritable as usual. His vocabulary had also apparently increased.. in terms of incredibly explicit suggestions..

So. Jak's friends? Did the guy have any, aside from the shoulder-warming rat? There was that girl he'd been with, at the party. A mechanic with blue hair. Yeah. His girlfriend maybe? She might be a better bet than Daxter. Less liable to crawl onto his back and refuse to let go until he returned Jak, anyway.

He smirked at the mental image.

The Soothsayer had been there too, but Damas had always seemed oddly wary of the old woman. He'd only contact her as a last resort.

"The girlfriend it is, then." He said to himself, pushing up off the wall.

_But seeing as the Stadium is closed until this afternoon.. I might just pay a visit to the Palace. Ashelin owes me a favour now, after that damned mission. I think I'll go call it in…_

The big man shouldered his weapon and strode off into the rain. The Krimzon fortress – where Praxis had based his experiments - had been locked down in recent times, pending investigation of the many crimes committed within… Only someone with sufficient clearance would be able to access it.. and the records it contained.

Someone like the Governor of Haven City.

J&D J&D J&D

Damas chuckled to himself, as he checked the bandages of his unconscious guest.

He hadn't had much opportunity to laugh in the recent times… What with Praxis' betrayal, his son's abduction and the Metal Heads' ever-growing threat….

But the terrified look on Mika's self-righteous face had been classic. He'd been hard-pressed not to laugh out loud, as the monk had tripped backwards in fear only to scramble up and bolt from the throne room. He _was_ a King, after all. It wasn't polite to laugh at monks.

Even whiny, stuffed-up, self-serving weedy ones like Mika.

But now, alone with Jak's once-again-unconscious body, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

Gently, he tightened the last of the bandages and pulled the blanket up over the still-cold body. It was always over-warm inside the throne room due to the windows… But Jak's form was persistently icy to the touch.

The humour faded from his face, replaced by a pensive frown. It was no doubt a side effect of the Dark Eco. But still, despite the monk's predictions, the boy not only lived – he'd also awakened! If only briefly.

Despite himself, he smiled.

The boy had been shaking & sweating, barely able to stand and clearly disorientated..

And yet the first thing he'd done was to ask after Sig.

Now _that_ was the kind of man he admired. The kind who put their friends' well-being above their own. You knew you could trust a man like that.

His smile split into a small grin as he replayed the memory.

Jak looking seconds away from collapse, eyes burning with the desperate need to do what he needed to do before he passed out… Sweaty, banged-up and shaking..

He had looked - as his late wife would say - _adorable_.

He snorted an embarrassed laugh to himself and turned away from the boy. Picking up the map he'd been working on earlier, he settled back into his throne.

He was getting soft. He'd have to challenge Sig to a head-butting contest as soon as his friend got back…

His thoughts trailed off, as he burst into raucous laughter. His throne room echoed with the joyful sound, as it hadn't since _that day_. The day his quirky, lovely wife had died protecting their infant child. It had been she who had used to laugh at Damas and Sig when the two best friends had their moments –as happens, in war – where they tried to express to the other just how much they appreciated them.

She had used to laugh and insist it was ok, as long as they restored their manliness immediately afterwards… Head butting contents had been her favourite prescription for her 'favourite girly men'.

His eyes grew moist, even as a fond smile played over his lips. He remembered her holding their son on her lap, beaming at the child as he laughed at their antics.

He heaved a sigh. It had been so long since he could think of those things without pain…

He glanced again at Jak.

He didn't know why, but… it was something to do with the teen.

His instincts were certain, and he would not be a Wastelander King if he didn't follow his instincts.

He returned to work, still smiling.

J&D J&D J&D

The prison was dark and silent, save for a single computer. Its screen cast a harsh glow on the room, illuminating the large Wastelander who was very carefully typing in his request.

Getting access to this place had been easier than he'd expected. Unfortunately, accessing the information he needed was proving far more difficult. Many computer hubs had been found almost completely melted.. like someone had taken a blaster to them. What few still worked seemed to be nothing more than administrative machines – roster duty, canteen stocks, eco supply…

By pure luck, he'd stumbled across a door that required the Baron's personal access code. Something only the Baron had possessed, until he died. Ashelin – smart cookie that she was – had snatched it up before any of the slimeballs jockeying for the Baron's place could remember it.

And she'd lent it to him.

He swiped the card through the concealed reader and stepped through the doorway.

The room was surprisingly bare, for a man like the Baron. Just a single computer, a handful of clip-board reports and a large comfortable chair.

He took a seat and booted the machine up. Whilst he was waiting, he picked up the clipboards and began to look through them.

Measurements, eco gauges, a sketch of some kind of machine. Here and there were photos. Twisted, blackened corpses that glistened in the light. The margins of the photos had numbers stamped onto them, along with a letter indicating the person's gender and then their age.

He glanced towards the screen. It seemed to be loading some pre-set program. He snorted. Baron Praxis had been known for his computer illiteracy…

He glanced back down at the photos and stiffened. This one contained no corpse, but rather a very familiar – very _young_ – face.

A KG was supporting the weight of the unconscious youth, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other tilting his head back. Blood flowed freely from the boy's nose and ears. His body was slightly blurry, as another person – probably a scientist – held one of the boy's hands up closer to the camera. The fingernails were stained a dark black and seemed thicker.. harder. They came to a point.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Knowing his friend had been experimented on was one thing. Seeing it was another. Scribbled in the margin was a serial number. 4-23-5 M (16?).

As he moved to pocket the photo, he noticed another scribble on the back.

_Subject's previously reported strength has proven to be inconsistent. Subject's durability has increased and so far remains constant. – Errol_

He frowned and put it away, as the computer finally beeped to show it's readiness.

"Ookay, Jak. Let's see if we can find you.."

Search: Jak.

….._searching…_

…_not found._

Search: 4-23-5

….._searching…_

…_1 result. Display? Y/N_

Y

The screen came alive, as page after page opened. A multitude of written reports, video files, image files, suggestions, a graph indicating Eco consumption, dietary requirements, item request forms…

For almost an hour, the Wastelander trawled through the multitude of information, face twisted in shock and revulsion. These bastards had systematically reduced Jak to a mere thing, less than an animal, as they tortured and twisted him. He swore violently when he came across a suggestion for ear plugs, so the scientists would be able to concentrate on their work, without being distracted by the screaming

Finally, after a nauseating moment of dread, he clicked on one of the video recordings. None of what he read – informative though it was – actually told him how they did it. It mentioned what was required, what needed repairing, and referred to several different devices and code-names… But there didn't seem to be anything about the 'standard procedure' itself.

Which wasn't so surprising… Jak hadn't been the only victim by a long shot… When you use something for long enough, you don't pay attention to it anymore.

The video was poor quality, clearly only kept for the records and not for reviewing.

It showed a metal chair. A huge machine with various pipes and sharp implements hung over it. To the side, there was movement. The camera didn't have any sound, but he didn't need it to see the fight Jak was putting up. He looked young here, too… maybe even younger than in the photo. Six KG were clustered around him, but somehow he'd managed to twist partially free. A kick sent one guard tumbling into some sort of pit surrounding the chair, a punch threw another through the air and right into the side of the chair. The guard hit the ground and stayed still. His face-mask was shattered.

Another KG smashed the butt of his gun into the kid's skull, dazing him for a moment. Quickly, the remaining guards each grabbed a limb and lifted the teen right off the floor. It wasn't until they were strapping him into the chair that the boy seemed to wake up a little. He struggled, but the restraints were already in place.

The KG that had hit him before moved to do so again, but another stayed his hand. He said something to him, it looked like they laughed together, before they moved off the platform, collecting their fallen comrade on the way.

Sig could feel his teeth grinding.

Jak's small figure strained once at the cuffs before his body went limp – seemingly accepting the inevitable.

What followed was greatly distorted.. the Dark Eco seemed to interfere with the feed, but the flashing greyscale screen still managed to convey the gist of what was happening.

It was gonna give him nightmares.

Unable to stomach any more, he switched the machine off. After a moment's silent contemplation, he rose to his feet, took a few steps back and levelled his peacemaker at the computer. Sure he was doing something he'd promised Ashelin he wouldn't do – interfere with anything that was needed for the upcoming investigation – but dammit, Jak was his friend. It was bad enough he'd had to live that hell, he wouldn't want some complete stranger nosing through it like his life was some freak show on display.

A moment later, the computer was a pile of slag and the large comfy chair was on fire.

He nodded once and turned to go. An orange body dropped onto his head from above.

"Hey big guy! Man, I thought **Jak** had anger issues!"

"Gah! DAXTER!" He yelled furiously, grabbing at the ottsel. The furball merely dug in his claws and pushed its face further towards Sig's own.

"Hey, watch your hands, buddy. I don't like you that way, ok?"

Sig glared at the animal, removing his hand before he inadvertently crushed Jak's little friend. Daxter glared right back.

"Where's Jak?" The ottsel demanded. "Why isn't he with you? And what are you _doin'_ here anyway? I know Jak would never come back here."

"What am **I **doing here!" Sig cried incredulously, thankful that his artificial eye made it impossible for him to look cross-eyed. "What are **you** doing here? Don't you have a bar to run?"

If possible, the ottsel glared even harder.

"**I **am lookin' for my best friend. My best friend who was last seen skipping off into the Wasteland with **you**! Now he's missing again and Ashelin won't tell me where he is.. even when I threatened to leave ottsel droppings all through the palace… SO.."

He swung around and down, feet-claws gripping the front of Sig's vets, hands clenched around his collar and little fury face snarling for all it was worth.

"WHERE IS HE!"

Sig blinked, honestly surprised. He'd always dismissed the critter, never trying to understand what Jak saw in the yapping furball.

..But he was beginning to..

"He's at my place." He answered eventually. He reached up and plucked the ottsel off his front. Daxter didn't resist, despite his still-going glare. Gingerly, he placed the small body onto the desk.

"I have a place outside the walls." He said carefully. "Jak got.. injured.. on our mission, so I left him there to rest up."

Daxter crossed his arms, though his anger was very obviously being shoved aside by fear. "Injured? Is he alright? Why the hell didn't he pick me up 'fore he went! That idiot! Where is this place? Take me there, right now!"

Despite himself, Sig chuckled. "I will." He promised. After all, there were no laws against brining animals to Spargus.

"I just need to finish up here, then we'll go." He shouldered his gun once more and turned to the door.

"Wait up!" Daxter called, as he leapt from the desk into a small vent set into the wall. Sig blinked. A moment later, the ottsel was back, carrying some kind of tank and a pronged stick.

"What you got there?" Sig asked curiously. He'd only ever seen the ottsel borrow Jak's gun once or twice. Daxter set the equipment onto the table and began to strap it all on.

"I used to work as an exterminator of Metal Head Bugs." He explained. "Back before I found Jak." Catching the look on Sig's face, he scowled. "I'll have you know that it was no picnic. Almost all of the were bigger than me to start with, and seeing as they were an integral part of Kor's plot to infiltrate the city, I had some serious work to do." Sig held back his comments and nodded. The little guy was a braggart at the best of times, but he didn't seem to be in the mood for it right now.

In fact.. as he switched on the electrified stick and inspected it for damage, he was looking more serious than any time Sig could remember.

"I was planning on going out into the Wasteland to look for Jak." The ottsel continued "But I wanted to know which direction to go in, so I went to ask Ashelin. Then SHE told me you were back in town already, but that you hadn't told her where Jak was – only that he was safe. Then she told me you'd wanted to come here for some reason, so I hotwired Torn's bike and came straight here."

The ottsel took a moment to laugh to himself. "Torn is gonna be SO PISSED." He chortled.

Sig was silent for a moment. He looked – really _looked_ – at the ottsel for the first time. The hyper happy, yapping braggart was still there, but overlaid was a devoted, fierce friend. One who was at a disadvantage in almost every way, yet was still prepared to head off into almost certain death – alone – just to help Jak.

"Ok." He said, partially to himself. "Alright Daxter, I just gotta find the main lab, have a look around, then we can go."

Daxter gave him a suspicious look. "Why?" He asked.

Sig paused for a moment. "Well… I can't really say much. But.. well, we need to know more about what happened to Jak, how the Baron did what he did. Y'see… Jak's injuries seem to be caused by it. We're worried he might die if we can't find a way to fix it."

Daxter was clearly worried anew. "Who's 'we'?" He asked. Sig remained silent. Daxter shook his head.

"Whatever." He dismissed. "So long as you're actually trying to help Jak…" He trailed off, then leapt past Sig and through the open doorway.

"C'mon, this way." He called impatiently.

Sig frowned down at him as he followed.

"You know your way around?" He asked sceptically.

Daxter rolled his eyes.

"Well _duh_. Who do you think busted him out, anyway?" He scampered off. His derisive voice floated back.

"_Wastelanders_.. they just don't think…"

Sig snorted and followed. Looked like he wouldn't need to visit the mechanic after all…

J&D J&D J&D

DAMN this chapter was long. I just kept typing, because I HATE it when you get a new chapter and nothing really happens, you know? I was gonna finish this chapter way back when Jak first woke up… About 7 pages in… But then I decided you deserved better than that.

I broke my cliff-hanger habits for you!

Please feel free to drop me a review. Not only so I know if it was ok, but also so I can see where you think this is going – or what you might like to see!

_WARNING: This section contains spoilers for PSP game 'Daxter'. _

_I love Dax. So I was NOT happy to see him spending two years drinking and hitting on women in bars, instead of trying to find Jak. The game's whole tone was that he only remembered Jak was missing when he saw him briefly, and all his rescue attempts were half-hearted at best. Then you get to the end and what do you get for it? Recycled footage and NEW VOICES! Grrrrrr…._


	3. Chapter 3

_Revelations_

_Part 3_

Sig stood at the base of the chair.

The room was cold and dark, all power having been cut off long ago. The only light came from the torch attachment on his peacemaker and Daxter's electric flyswatter.

The light they provided glinted sickly on the horrible machine.. and it took a few moments for Sig to realise that what he'd mistaken for engine oil was in fact blood.

Dark, dark red.. almost _black_ blood.

Dark, almost-black blood that was _still wet_ after all this time…

He edge closer, shooting a wary glance at the monstrosity hanging over him and reached a finger towards it – morbidly curious to see if it was still warm.

It wasn't, but it _did_ give him a nasty shock, making him pull his hand back sharply with a barely-stifled yelp of pain. Before his eyes, the blood glowed faintly purple before fading and drying. The blood splattered over the rest of the chair, however, still shone wetly.

Sig's nostrils flared, the stench of Dark Eco eating into his sinuses. Turning away from the chair, he made his way to Daxter's small form. The ottsel was going through a box he'd discovered kicked under the consol. Jak's friend had studiously refused to look at the centre of the room ever since they'd entered, hence his discovery of the forgotten box.

Reaching his tiny companion, Sig opened his mouth to ask if he'd found anything useful, but Daxter beat him to the punch.

"Sick. Isn't it."

The normally vibrant voice was flat and dead. Dark, angry eyes flicked up to the Wastelander.

"They had him here for _two years_, Sig. It took me _two years_ to find him, to get him out. If it'd been _me_ in here, it wouldn't have taken _Jak_ that long."

Sig blinked, then lowered himself into a crouch.

"You don't know that." He rumbled lowly. Daxter just glared at the wall, clawed paws tightening on the data-sheet he was holding.

"Yes I do." Daxter shot back. "I've known Jak a **lot** longer than you, Sig. When something of his is threatened or in trouble.. there isn't anything in this world that can stop him. If it'd been me dragged off by KG, he'd have.."

"He'd have been just as helpless coming to get you, as he was when they grabbed him." Sig interrupted. "He's a damn good fighter, Dax.. but obviously he wasn't good enough when they first came for him."

The anger seemed to leak out of the Ottsel. "You don't understand.." he said helplessly. "We were off-guard.. Everything was so different here.. Jak had killed plenty of creatures.. plenty of Lurkers.. But our own kind? We'd never been attacked by our own kind before. Not for no reason.. What were we supposed to do? What was _Jak_ supposed to do? Gol and his crazy sister were twisted with Dark Eco and bent on destroying the world… they were acceptable to kill, even if they _hadn't _actively been trying to kill _us_ too.."

He shook his head. "But.. we get here… and it all happens so fast. They knock him out.. just like that. And I did _try_ to find him.. but this place was so big and most people who saw me tried to eat me.. I ate out of the garbage for over a year, getting some coins by pulling 'amazing animal tricks' before Ozmo gave me a job at his family's business… It took me that long to get used to this place, to understand how it worked. Half the time I was pretending to myself that Jak must've busted _himself_ out by then.. that he was probably searching for me and the best thing I could do was stay in one place, especially if I made a name for myself as a bug-hunter.. make it easier for him to find me. Then I saw him, in a KG transport cage…"

Sig privately assumed that had been a pretty sharp slap in the face for the ottsel. He'd depended on Jak for so long that the reality that Jak needed help – _his_ help – must've been hard and jarring.

"But you got him out." He prompted, reminding both the animal and himself.

Daxter nodded bleakly.

"Yeah. I got him out. He nearly killed me at first… Would have, if he hadn't recognised me at the last second… I was terrified. Not of dying – for the first time in my life – but that I was too late – too _lazy_ – and his mind had been broken whilst I was sitting on my arse drinking beer."

Sig placed one of his large hands onto the tiny shoulder.

"_But you got him out._" He repeated firmly. "And you didn't stop there. For a kid who went through what I just saw, he's incredibly collected. Both mentally and socially."

Daxter's shoulders relaxed under his fingers, even as the animal shot him a look as if to say 'Jak? _Social_? Are we talking about the same Dark Warrior here?'

Sig chuckled.

"He might not talk a lot, but when he does have something to say – it's intelligent and to the point. For a guy who went through two years of… that… he's almost unaffected – aside from the whole 'going dark' problem he has. I know you, as his closest friend, can say differently.. You knew the Jak from before and can see the differences… but when you're looking at those differences, try and think how he _could_ have turned out. Then maybe those differences won't seem so bad… just different."

He straightened, hefting his weapon.

"Anyway, enough babbling. I doubt you want to be here any longer than I do. What have you got there?"

Daxter shook himself out of his dour – yet newly thoughtful – mood.

"Just a report from some Vegan creep." He said vaguely waving it about.

He paused.

"Hmmm. Vegan. Vegan… Sounds familiar…"

Sig was digging through the box, rapidly glancing at the paper within.

"Light Eco? What's that?"

Daxter jumped up onto his shoulder.

"Light Eco! That's it! Vegan.. no, Veg_er_'s the nasty creep who was telling Errol that Jak oughtta be put down.. 'cause he was a 'Dark Eco abomination'. Jerk. I heard him and Errol when I came in to bust Jak out. Veger was going ON and ON about that stuff. Don't get me wrong, it's very shiny and all but you need, like, four sages to make it."

Sig frowned at him.

"How d'you know?" he queried. Dax just waved a paw. "Long story, buddy. You buy me a drink one day and I'll tell ya all about it. 'S waste of time, though.. Light Eco doesn't just lie around."

Sig hummed deep in his throat.

"Veger doesn't seem to think so." He replied, picking up Daxter's discarded data pad and scrolling through it.

"Look. He's talking here about how the 'Monks have sourced a supply of Light Eco.'"

Daxter leaned over, one hand braced against Sig's headgear and read the script for himself.

"Precursors…" The Ottsel breathed. "If this is true…"

He jumped down.

"I think we've got what we came for, Siggy-baby. When Dark Eco turned me into the short 'n sexy form standing before you, Samos said that Light Eco could turn me back. Or it could save the world. I kinda had to pick, which _sucked_. Anyway…"

"If this can reverse Dark Eco damage.." Sig began, picking up on where Daxter was going with the idea.

"Then maybe it can help Jak!" Daxter finished triumphantly. Sig nodded, a flicker of hope and resolve returning to his eyes.

"Right. Help me dig out which of these reports deals with Light Eco, then we can go."

"To Jak?" Daxter checked, as he jumped into the box and started tossing papers haphazardly out of it.

"To Jak." Sig confirmed, inwardly hoping his friend had held on in his absence. If he got back to the Wasteland and Jak was….

…Well. Better not to go borrowing trouble.

"That reminds me, Daxter." He continued absent-mindedly, as he scanned the reports tossed at him. "If you've known Jak for so long, do you know how he got a hold of that red seal he has?"

Daxter nodded, just as distracted.

"Yeah. The kid – his younger self, y'know – gave it to him before he went back in time. Cute kid. I know Jak misses him, if only because he represented a happier time…"

He trailed off as he gradually noticed Sig's absolute stillness.

"Daxter." Sig ground out, visibly straining to keep his voice even. "What do you mean, 'younger self'. 'Back in time'?"

Dax hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"I guess it doesn't hurt, you knowing.. I thought you already did, and Jak trusts ya after all.. There was this little blonde, blue-eyed kid wandering around Haven. The Underground were hiding him. Apparently, he was the heir of the House of Mar.. they wanted to protect him from the Baron so'd they'd have someone who could overthrow him later.. you know, 'rightful ruler' crap. Frankly, I think they were just usin' him as a rallying point.. a figurehead. You sure don't see anyone rushing to crown Jak King of Haven.. nooo.. Ashelin's sitting pretty instead. Pah. She may be hot, but she's as wily as her old man, I reckon."

"What does that have to do with everything?" Sig cut in harshly, struggling to put together and understand the incredible information – the information he'd been seeking for years – that Daxter had just tossed into his lap.

Daxter blinked.

"It's not precursor-science… Jak is the heir of Mar… His younger self – from the present time – went with the present Samos – Green Sage and uglier than a diseased yakkow – through a rift gate to the past. About 500 years or so, Samos says. I come from that time, and made friends with Jak when he was growing up – back when he was a mute. Then, almost three years ago now, I got changed into an Ottsel and due to a series of really weird events, we ended up coming through another rift gate to THIS time. It was upon landing that Errol and his goons jumped us and dragged off Jak. I don't think the Baron ever knew Jak and the kid were the same person, though. Only Kor (that slimy bastard) knew, which was how **we **found out."

Daxter watched as Sig's face slowly paled, his features going slack with shock.

"Er… Sig? C'mon big guy, you're freakin' me out. What's wrong?"

It seemed to take an age for Sig to respond. One green eye slowly focussed on the bright orange Ottsel. He cleared his throat.

"I was sent to Haven to look for Mar. The kid's name.. the kid who had that seal.. his name was Mar."

Daxter made a soft noise of understanding, ears lying flat as he realised how shaken up Sig must be.. the kid he'd searched for was long gone, and replaced with an older, surlier, much more dangerous model.

"Daxter. I was sent by Damas. Mar's…. Jak's…. father."

Daxter's eyes widened.

"Holy… shit.." He breathed, mind reeling.

Sig nodded, still looking shell-shocked himself.

"You said it, cherry."

J&D J&D J&D

Moonlight spilled through the huge windows.

Damas' throne room was empty, save for the Dark creature still unconscious on the floor.

A white lip curled. The King had gone to bed at last, sent off with the promise that his monks would care for the boy... for the _monster_ in his absence.

They would _take care_ of it alright.

A motion of his hand had four other - more junior - monks emerge from the shadows. Silently and gently, they gathered the blanket-wrapped body into their arms, hoisted it onto their shoulders and began to move towards the hidden stone staircase.

It had been built for emergency retreats and could only be accessed from _inside_ the throne room.

This particular staircase had four separate exits. King Damas only knew three of them. The secret fourth one - known only to the Monks - was where they took the abomination now. It lead to a tunnel which was in turn connected to the extensive underground home of the Monks, buried underneath the ruins out in the Wasteland. Once there, they would carry this creature of the Dark Makers out into the unforgiving sands and _end its pitiful existence_.

It was their duty, as Monks of the Precursors. All spawn of the Dark must be eradicated, if the Light were to be preserved.

And if he enjoyed the execution of his duty upon this young, _tainted_ creature... then all the better.

J&D J&D J&D

Thank you, everyone, for your comments.

Special mentions to Kitsuna (Your review was what prompted me to turn my attention away from Alex Rider just long enough to finish the next chapter of Revelations) & Quela (I miss your ficcage, dude! What's happened? You're too busy drawing kick-ass pics and partaking in kick-ass role-play to write some kick-ass chapters? Talk about slack! Oh and many thanks for the offer. I will most likely take you up on it from time to time.) Oh, and aesher, I love you too. Especially for THAT review!


	4. Chapter 4

Extra special thanks MUST be quickly given to the following:

RingWorks: Thank you for your support. Every time I got an email like yours, I'd go write some more.. or brainstorm the bits I was stuck on. :) I'm sorry that FFX: Restoration has been left alone. The planning and framework for that story is pretty in-depth and I did enjoy writing it.. but when a story gets so little feedback, it's automatically put aside in favour of the ones which have more people waiting for them. I do hope to finish it one day and will post if/when it's fully completed.

Kitsuna: Not only reviewed, but also PM'd, emailed and msn'd me. :D Award goes for 'Most harassing reader'. Seriously though, her dedication to demanding ficcage and awesome help in getting me through the ending-block (I didn't know which of my drabbled endings would be the one to use. I ended up using none of them :D) should be applauded. Serious and devout thanks to her.

I know I'm missing somebody… But darn, I just can't recall.. :( If you're one of the people who PM'd me occasionally to motivate or threaten my life, please let me know so you can get the credit you deserve!

And lastly, my absolutely love to every one of you who took the time to review. That's such a rarity these days, with so many authors seeing only a fraction of their readers bother to review. And so many of you not only dropped me a line, but talked about elements of the plot itself, which I love because it helps me spot the huge errors I have a habit of walking blindly into. :D

_Revelations_

_Part 4_

The tunnels were blissfully cool and blessedly dark. Only a single crystal lit the path at a time – often only at junctions.

The idea was that only a monk should travel these pathways.. and if you were a monk, than you shouldn't _need_ signs.

For if you were a monk, travelling _these_ passages, you had better know where you're going – or else face an eternity lost and alone.

It was said that these passages travelled all the way to the centre of the world.

To the throne of the Precursors.

It was not so auspicious a destination that _these _monks were headed to, unfortunately.

Four recently-initiated monks – bearing only the red line of neophyte upon their brows - bore a body wrapped in cloth on their shoulders, faithfully following their superior through the twists and turns of the under-desert domain.

Occasionally the body would move, twisting in increasingly uneasy sleep. When that happened, the monks holding it would flinch away – attempting to carry their burden without actually touching it. Their faces, if enough light remained to see them by, were pinched and pale with fear.

Their leader's, in contrast, was lined with frustrated anger.

He was – though he'd never admit it – a little lost.

They _should_ have broken through to the surface fifteen minutes ago.

He'd known he'd made a wrong turn almost immediately, back when he'd passed the exit tunnel, but pride had kept his steps from faltering. He'd moved on, intending to circle round in a suitably confusing pattern so that the neophytes behind him wouldn't catch on.

Instead, he'd managed to utterly confuse himself.

When he saw the flicker of light up ahead – stronger, indicating an open area of communal access – he couldn't stop the immediate rush of relief, even as he tensed in anticipation of difficult questions.

Echoes caught at his ears. Two voices, one soft and one harsh.

By the time he reached the cavern, however, only one person remained.

"Seem!" He exclaimed, unable to squash a flicker of apprehension.

The monk was standing, motionless, over a seal set into the floor.

Hesitating, he waved his followers to remain in the shadows of the doorway, before striding forward to confront the other monk.

He had only just opened his mouth when his eyes caught the markings of the seal and his jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

"_Light_ Eco?" he exclaimed incredulously. "So it's true! The old veins _do_ contain it!"

Finally, Seem stirred.

"Yes." She murmured. "But that is of no use to us, if we cannot access it."

He frowned in incomprehension. Seem moved aside and gestured down.

The seal of the House of Mar shone red in the dull light. There was something different about this one, though. The curved symbols – each curling into the other – bore a new addition.

A hunk of Eco Crystal was embedded in the head of each curving symbol. Dark Eco in one and Light Eco in the other.

"But.. but what does that mean? Surely the King's seal could open it?" He sputtered.

Seem shook her head, regretfully.

" It _would_ resonate with the seal, if it were held by the King.. Or even his blood would do, as the King has given his seal to Sig for the time being.. Were that the only protection, it would not be difficult for _us. _However_,_ those Eco Crystals are not decoration alone. They act like a combination lock. This seal needs not only the line of Mar to open it, but also a Sage of both Light and Dark Eco."

"Sage?" He cried. "But.. but there _aren't_ any sages! Not any more! We monks are the closest thing to Sages now!" He cried, infuriated at Mar's ludicrous design. For a man so famous for his uncanny foresight and almost omniscient designs throughout the world, it seemed a shocking oversight.

"Perhaps it was of deliberate design." Seem said. The monk seemed resigned. "It has been speculated that Mar's foresight came from his close interaction with the Precursors. Perhaps they foresaw this time and deemed us unworthy of what little Light Eco would still remain."

"Rubbish!" He exclaimed, incredulous at Seem's apparent resignation to death. "Why would Mar have created the shield wall of Haven city, or the Wasteland's underground tunnel system, if not to aid in the fight against the Haraquan? Why would he make a vent for Light Eco here, and then seal it from use? No no.. There _must_ be a way in.. we just have to _find_ it." He paced back and forth, fired up by the possibilities his mind was throwing up.

An ancient test, set by Mar himself.

The grateful masses, as he devised the solution and unlocked the greatest power they could wield against the Dark Eco creatures.

He stopped suddenly, recalling the creature he'd brought down with him.  
He pondered the situation quickly. He hadn't wanted to involve any other monk with the creature's disposal – _especially_ not Seem. Although he knew she would condemn the creature as was proper, she wouldn't take the next step and actively eradicate it. Not unless it first attacked her or those under her watch. She lacked the moral strength for such a deed.

He shouldn't reveal its presence.. but..

"Perhaps a sage is not needed." He theorised. "Perhaps it merely requires those three elements. The bloodline, the Dark and the Light."

Seem turned her face to him, expression blank but her eyes suspicious.

"Go on." She instructed.

He hesitated, then turned to the neophytes and gestured them forwards.

"I have the dark creature with me. The.. the King ordered me to bring him down here. Whilst we have him, though, we may as well see if he can't be useful."

Seem didn't answer at first, as she moved forward and pulled part of the cloth aside to reveal the pale, sweating face beneath. She watched, utterly silent, as the teen's face twisted and tightened with pain.

Slowly, she raised one pale hand and drew her fingertips down the side of his face. She flinched, though the blonde's expression eased a little.

"This darkness is not of his own making." She said softly. "Though he has often embraced it." She paused for a long moment, her red eyes troubled.

"If he is touching the vent when it opens... it will most likely kill him." She said finally.  
"He is touched so deeply by the Dark, that its eradication would spell his own doom."

The Monk standing to the side shifted impatiently.

"So be it!" He snapped. "We are this world's warrior protectors, Seem! We need this Eco! In a war against the Haraquan, there will always have to be sacrifices. We should be _grateful_ that this time we are only loosing such a foul creature, instead of one of our own kin!"

Seem turned her head and pierced him with a fierce stare.

"So quick to throw another's life away." She murmured, the sense of hidden anger lurking in her voice. "So quick to judge another living creature's existence to be lesser than your own. Such an attitude is familiar to me."

The Monk turned scarlet with rage, visible even through the paint on his face. The insinuation that _he_ was like the tainted Precursor race, who sought to destroy all things 'beneath' them and dominate the universe was possibly the worst insult a Monk could be delivered.

"Your words are out of line, Seem!" The Monk snarled, fists clenched and shaking with repressed fury. "I seek only to honour my vows! If any, it is _you_ who helps our enemy, who shows them mercy, when they would reciprocate only with murder!"

Seem's eyes narrowed.

"The _Haraquan_ are our enemy." She hissed. "Not our own kind. Until such time as this child proves himself a threat to us, who are we to judge his right to exist?"

The Monk exploded.

"_What were once the Haraquan? _Precursors! Precursors who were taken by the dark and who waged war against their own kind! How is this _any_ different to that situation! One of our own has been taken by the Dark and it is _our duty_ to _prevent_ him from 'proving himself'. What will you wait for, Seem? This.. this _thing_ to murder a Wastelander? A Monk? Will it take an innocent's _death _before you gain the strength to do what is needed?"

Seem stepped back, head raised and eyes glittering angrily.

"Do then what you will, Aiden. Seek his aid in opening the vent. On your own head be his death, if death claims him because of it."

She paused, then lowered her voice so the listening neophytes could not hear.

"But _know this_. If you murder this child, deliberately, because you believe it is _your right_... I will take your own life in exchange. Be told."

And then she was moving away into the shadows.

"I will return with a portion of Light Eco." Her voice called back, echoing surreally from the maze of tunnels. "I will leave you to arrange the Dark."

The Monk forced the scowl not to appear on his face. Turning, he gestured to the lesser Monks and stepped forwards to glare at the seal in the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the neophytes lay the cloth-wrapped body on the ground with relieved expressions.

Seem had left him with the most difficult task.

The difference between Eco focused and diffused through a living being – such as a Sage – and the kind of raw eco that was found in vents or pools was small but significant. Eco alone was merely an element of existence.. unless directed by and melded with a living being's life energy, it was only _half_ of what it _could_ be.

And so far, every single Eco-Designed seal of Mar's had been designed in such a way that a Sage was needed to interact with it. Even if only so simply as to first absorb a form of Eco, then re-form it and apply to the seal.

It had been widely accepted that this was so the Haraquan – who could no longer tolerate any form of Eco other than Dark – could not access the seals by merely arranging for some other form of Eco to touch it.

But then why was _this _one sealed with Dark? If Dark were the only seal, it would be certain that – for whatever reason – this vent was aimed at the Haraquan themselves.. but the Light seal disputed that…

In any case, they could not simply shove the creature's hand over the crystal and hope for the best. He would have to be woken, dealt with.. he would have to absorb some Dark, then re-form it and apply it to the crystal… and he'd have to do it willingly.

And then, after all this and if his idea proved correct.. they would need to involve the King.

Who would no doubt be very unpleasant to the Monk who had taken the boy away without permission.

He shuddered slightly, then forced his mind back on track. _When_ this worked, he would be a Hero. The King would _thank_ him for his foresight...

Even _Seem_ would have to acknowledge his worth.

"Go to the temple. Retrieve two gourds of Dark Eco – carefully, make sure you seal them before moving them – and bring them back here." He instructed the four subordinates. They nodded and hurried away.

The monks who cleared the temple of Metal Heads were in the habit of shifting the Eco-remains of the creatures into nearby containers, for ease of disposal at a later time. Every Warrior-Monk was well versed in the technique of shifting air around Dark Eco vapour, both to protect themselves from the remains in combat and to clean up those remains afterwards.

It would be useful now.

Aiden walked over to the creature and stared down at it impassively.

Without warning, he kicked it savagely and then spun away to fetch some water to throw over it. It made him sick to even think about asking the beast for help.

He did not notice the boy coughing a small amount of blood.. some of which sprayed lightly onto the seal.

Nor did he notice the seal glowing dully and absorbing the blood, leaving only a dusting of black powder over the surface.

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Almost two hours later, they were ready.

Seem stood to one side, a single globe of almost-liquid Light Eco glowing between her hands, suspended in the air. The female monk stood silently, clearly waiting for Aiden to orchestrate the operation.

How she managed to do so in such an infuriatingly contemptuous manner was beyond him.

He ignored her as best he could, turning instead to check on the others involved. Two neophytes stood to the side, each cradling a large gourd filled with Dark Eco. They looked reasonably calm at being so near the lethal stuff, if only because their companions had the unenviable task of holding up the Dark Creature.

The blonde was mostly-conscious, thanks to a potent blend of herbs Aiden had eventually burnt under his nose, when water had failed to rouse him. As time passed, his mind cleared a little more, but his body remained shaky and weak.

_Withdrawal._ Aiden identified in disgust. _Disgusting creature_.

"Do you understand?" He asked again. He had been attempting to explain the situation and what was required to the boy for almost ten minutes now. Dark blue eyes flickered back to him, a frown narrowing them a little.

"It doesn't work like that." The teen replied, his voice weary and a little annoyed. "I'm not a Sage. I can't control the Eco like that… I used to be able to, a long time ago… but not since.."

"I don't need your life story." Aiden cut in harshly. "And I am well aware of your _limitations_." He sneered.

"However, according to our information, you are capable of Dark-Eco energy attacks when in your other form. Is that correct?"

He watched as the blonde shook his head abruptly, face flickering with confusion and discomfort. "I… yeah…" The teen breathed. "But I can't… do _that_ without going Dark first. Understand?"

Aiden felt his lip curl.

"Then you will simply have to 'go Dark', won't you? I imagine it would be a short trip." He replied sharply.

The teen snarled at him.

"Fuck you." He growled. "You have no fucking _clue_ what you're talking about. Even if I _could_ change right now, I wouldn't. I don't have any _control_ when I'm like that, don't you get it? I'd kill you!"

Aiden smiled slightly, condescendingly.

"We are Precursor Monks, boy. We have fought the Haraquan for hundreds of years, founded by Mar himself, long ago. Long before guns and other Eco-based weapons.. Long before science made such a twisted aberration of nature like yourself possible! Rest assured, you are no threat to us."

The blonde remained stubbornly obstinate.

"No." He said simply, head raised in challenge. "You can't _force_ a change, either.. not with _that_ pissy amount of Eco." He jerked a head at the gourds held by the two neophytes and Aiden visibly started at the realisation that the monster before him could _sense_ the Eco... from within _sealed containers_.

Almost-Sage indeed…

Then: a stroke of brilliance.

"Very well." He acquiesced easily. "I shall inform the King of your unwillingness to assist."

The blonde frowned a little deeper, visibly trying to puzzle out his meaning.

"I imagine he will not be happy.." Aiden continued, helping the creature out a little. What was the use of manipulation if the subject couldn't grasp it? "Sig has already put his life on the line to bring you to him.. And now you refuse a simple task which could help us justify his action? All men and women must prove their worth in order to stay under King Damas' protection. And you.. You rush to reject such an opportunity. To throw the King's kindness back in his face."

He watched with satisfaction as blue eyes lowered and grew distant. He waited patiently as the Dark creature studied the sand at his feet before raising his head in defeat.

"Fine. I'll do it." He said quietly. "But.. I don't have any real control once I've changed.. There's no guarantee I'll use any Eco. I might just go for your throats directly.. He.. I.." He stopped and swallowed. "He likes using his claws." He finished quietly.

Aiden barely bit back a furious comment about the boy distancing himself from his _own_ actions, not _someone else's_, but stopped himself just in time.

"Then I suggest you stand directly over the vent." He said coldly. "The energy of the change stands a good chance of triggering it. Then we shall go from there…"

A movement at the corner of his eye turned his attention to Seem, who was now staring at him, anger visible in her stiff posture.

"The boy will be perfectly safe." He assured her in exasperation. "Without the King's blood or seal, the vent cannot be opened. This thing will be long gone before His Majesty comes down to unlock the final part."

Seem didn't seem any happier, but remained silent, thank the Precursors.

"Seem, if you could begin?" He instructed as courteously as he could. Soon-to-be-heroes such as himself could afford to be gracious.

The monk did so, stepping lightly forward and raising the ball of energy. A few quick motions of fingers and wrists later, and the Eco had flickered briefly through her hands before being directed down into the seal.

The Light Eco crystal glowed blue-white, throwing shadows throughout the room.

Aiden felt a small, exultant smile spread over his face. He was a genius!

He turned to the two neophytes and nodded. They stepped away from the dark creature, who wavered on his feet but remained standing. He turned then to the final two, holding the Dark Eco.

"Dorin. Carefully open your gourd, and-"

"Don't bother." The monster interrupted. He held out a hand to one of the neophytes, jerking his wrist impatiently when the man hesitated.

"Give it here." He ordered tersely. "You don't want to be too close when I'm absorbing it."

After a glance at Aiden for permission, the neophyte gingerly handed the gourd over and scuttled away.

Showing a complete and utter disregard for the craftsmanship and age of the vessel, the blonde threw it to the ground – quite strongly, considering he looked like a _kitten_ could put him down right now.

The gourd shattered. Purple-black globs of the sickly Eco scattered for an instant, before being drawn towards the boy standing in the middle, as though he were a new source of gravity. A single thread of purple lightning crackled off him, earthing itself in the sand where the gourd had broken.

The boy himself had fallen to his knees, body shaking, teeth gritted and hands bracing himself against the ground.

Despite his contempt, even Aiden could not help but feel a little awed. That amount of Dark Eco would mean instant death to any other man… And this boy wasn't even screaming…

"Give me the other one." The boy ordered. Aiden twitched at the sound of his voice. It was a little deeper.. harsher. More guttural.

The neophyte, operating on fear, stepped forward obediently and gave the teen the final gourd, leaping back as the blonde smashed it one-handed against the ground.

His strength was visibly - remarkably – greater. As the second batch of Dark Eco crackled into his body, a short cry of pain was all that accompanied it.

As the light faded, he got to his feet. Although still a little unbalanced, he now _reeked_ of power… Blue eyes, much darker than before, flickered around the room.. _marking targets_…Every step the boy took seemed sure and steady. Gone was the weakness of before, replaced by the strength of a predator.

As he stepped onto the seal, it began to glow lightly.

Seem frowned, eyes narrowing sharply as she stared at it.

Aiden loosened his limbs, preparing himself for battle. Hopefully he could kill the creature once it had completed its purpose... Self defence, of course..

The blonde closed his eyes and tensed in preparation to change.

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The Dark Eco was rippling through him in powerful, painful waves.

As bad as the initial over-taxed weakness had been, this was.. this would _always be_ worse.

Because it felt _good_. Every jolt of energy, every step against the ground sent spikes of pain through his nerves.. and he _liked_ it. Whether by the Baron's design or his own masochistic misfortune.. his body reacted to each ripple of pain with an echo of pleasure.

And that made him feel disgusted as _well_ as angry.

Not that this damned monk was helping.. Self-righteous bastard. Hopefully he'd go for _him_ first…

He sighed, reaching down for the Dark Eco within himself. If it hadn't been for the mention of the King, Jak would have told the bastard quite explicitly what he could go do with himself _and_ his problematic eco vent. Jak had been well and truly conditioned _out_ of mindless obedience or love of authority figures a long time ago..

But.. the King had been.. kind.

And Warm.

And Familiar.

And he, Jak.. did not want to disappoint him. Not over something so trivial …

He drew a sharp breath as the Eco within him suddenly surged up and spread throughout his body in ever-increasing waves.

He _hated_ the change…

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Seem watched silently, a shadow of horror in her eyes as the boy hunched over and then wrenched back, lips pulling away from his teeth in a blood-curling snarl. With a short spray of blood, twin horns erupted violently from his skull, staining the whitening hair around it a dark purple-black. His muscles bulged and rippled, twisting around themselves under his skin as they were torn apart and strengthened. That same skin paled sharply, becoming stark white, as his fingers thickened to support the black claws extending from their tips.

The pain of the transformation was evident. So was the unnatural, _twisted_ vibe that now radiated from his body.

But what made her both fear and pity him, was the utter lack of soul in his black eyes. The angry, defensive boy was gone.. replaced entirely by a demon.

No wonder he spoke of his Dark as another person…

Further thought was halted, however, when she noticed the seal beneath the demon's feet glow brightly. The Dark Eco Crystal was glowing a steady purple-black.. but the seal itself was also glowing with a red light.

Her eyes widened in shock and fury. Had Aiden somehow procured the King's blood? Had he planned to open the vent here and now, destroying the boy in the process?

There was a blast of white light. Caught squarely within it, raised up above the ground, the boy's demon-form writhed soundlessly. A dark shape in the centre of a nova, he nevertheless glowed slightly.. from within.

Seem squinted against the glare, scarcely able to believe it.

Sure enough, countless tendrils of light were snaking through the boy's body, battling the dark as the teen convulsed in agony.

That.. should not have been possible. Not for a body so saturated with the Dark. He should not have survived even if he _hadn't_ changed before hand…

_The source of the light was __**not**__ coming from the vent. _Seem gasped and stepped closer, battling the light/dark waves of energy to do so. Reaching out every sense she possessed, she struggled to understand her instincts.

Somehow.. somehow the boy had retained something pure. Not just an absence of defilement, not just an untouched core.. but a pure one. A light one.

One that was - even now – fighting to re-structure his body, opening his veins up to the Light Eco outside him… drawing the pure energy in and keeping him alive as it fought the Dark.

A scream was wrenched from the teen, as his horns – glowing brilliantly white – receded into his skull. He flinched and twisted again as his claws followed suit – also glowing with a brilliant light.

The light grew brighter, until even Seem had to shield her eyes.

Then, with a rush of energy, it receded. The open vent glowed softly.  
The boy's body floated gently to the ground, so wreathed with light that his core seemed to be dark. Then, as he touched the ground, the light scattered and the blonde was back, lying wide-eyed on the ground.

Seem moved rapidly to his side, concerned that his mind had just been destroyed.

She needn't have worried.

As she knelt beside him, the boy flicked bright blue eyes to her, grinned with a joy so intense that she felt her own lips turn up in a smile, and then spoke.

"That.. was _awesome_." He breathed.

Then he closed his eyes, sighed once, and fell asleep.

Her smile widened a little.

"I'm glad." She said softly.

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All reviews welcomed, all ideas, complaints and discussions loved!


	5. Chapter 5

The final chapter! At long last!

Less action, more talkies in this chapter. My apologies for the slow pace, but this story needed to be tied off and I didn't want to leave you on a cliffhanger. :)

Yes, that means there will be a short story after this one, mostly taking place during the events in Jak 3, with a little tweaking here and there on plot points and events.

Not to mention, Jak & Damas...

(Edit: Ha. Short story my buttocks.)

_Warning for more swearing_. Not a lot, but it's there.

_Revelations_

_Part 5_

When I finally woke up, it was without pain.

For the first time in years. I couldn't help but smile in relief, in amazement.

I could still feel the Dark, but it was so.. _muted_ now. The Light swirled around it, not blocking it but balancing it.

It was peaceful. My mind and body felt cleaner, clearer than before I could accurately remember. Without the constant internal struggle against the Dark, I felt sharper. Fresh. Able to think, able to _be_.

When I opened my eyes, the room was shadowy and empty. That jerk monk had vanished. After a moment, I realised the shadows were flickering.. because the source of light was coming from behind me.

_The vent! _

It wasn't supposed to open, right? It had hurt like _fuck_ when it did, but it had apparently also cured me. Well, at least repaired me a little.

I rolled over and squinted at the almost-forgotten sight of an eco vent opened up. Instead of green or blue, however, this vent emitted a pure, vibrant white.

"It's good to see you awake."

A patient, dusky voice broke the silence. I rolled to my feet and reached for a weapon that wasn't there.

A slender, short form appeared out of the shadows, hands raised slightly in supplication.

"Peace, friend." The woman – the monk – said quietly. "Your reaction to the Light Eco – despite being consumed by Dark – was more than sufficient reassurance for me. As long as you do not seek to harm the Wastelanders, you have no enemy in me."

I looked her up and down. Her dark red eyes were calm and honest. Her very being exuded a sense of peace and self-control.. unlike that other bastard.

Maybe not all monks were so bad.

I nodded, shortly.

"Fine." I said. "Where's my gun? And Sig? And where the hell am I, anyway?"

A smile twitched at one corner of her mouth before the serene expression righted itself once more.

"You are in the tunnels below the desert." She answered calmly, turning slightly and beckoning him to follow her. "Your gun is, I imagine, still in the throne room from where you were taken. I will escort you back to the city – the tunnels take many years to learn."

"And Sig?" I persisted. I had the vague feeling that he was ok.. maybe somebody had already told me, but I had to make sure.

"Sig is well." That was _definitely _a smile I heard in her voice, probably because her back was safely turned to me. "In fact, I believe he is on his way home. If we hurry, you should be able to meet his transport."

"Thanks." I muttered, following the shorter monk with light, easy energy flowing through me. I couldn't stop marvelling at how healthy and fresh I felt.. especially after that latest bout of Eco-sickness I'd just had. Even the dark depression that had been wearing me down for the past few months seemed to be lighter.. to the point where I actually recognised that I _had_ been depressed.

It was a weird feeling. Liberating.

I could almost forgive the Precursors for taking so damned long to provide this 'balance' they'd promised.. just because now that I actually had it, it kicked _ass_.

"What happened to that bastard monk?" I asked after a good twenty minutes of silent walking. For most of that I'd been revelling in my new good health and the rest I'd spent putting my hazy recent memories in order. Unfortunately the bastard was reasonably clear.

"Aiden is.. otherwise occupied." The monk answered quietly. "I imagine he has begun to realise that taking you from the King's protection without permission – for any reason – is not likely to sit well with King Damas."

I almost tripped over my own feet. That's _right_! Damas! The memory of him.. dark skin, kind eyes, strong hands.. came rushing back.

"He seemed.. pretty familiar." I ventured cautiously. "Has he.. been to Haven before?"

The monk threw a curious look over her shoulder.

"Not for a long time." She answered, almost sadly. "King Damas has always been a good ruler, dedicated to the welfare of his people.. but his people have not always held such distinction. Almost three decades ago he was banished from Haven City – the seat of his line's power – by a coup led by Baron Praxis. The people, caught in fear of the Metal Heads, supported the treasonous action - save for the loyal few. All were banished to certain death in the desert, keeping Praxis' hands ostensibly clean of blood."

I frowned and increased my stride so I could walk next to her.

"But he's obviously not dead." I observed. "And Praxis is. Why didn't he come back?"

The monk sighed.

"When King Damas was banished, Praxis didn't know that the line of Mar had a fortress hidden in the wasteland." She answered gravely. "The King brought his followers there and sent some of them to retrieve others loyal to him, but who weren't involved in the original dethroning. It suited the King for Praxis to believe that he and his had perished in the Wasteland. Over the next few months, handfuls of his most loyal left the city with all the supplies they could lay their hands on, sneaking out once Praxis was certain of his control. The fortress provided shelter and water.. and Damas was prepared with knowledge of how to find food in the wasteland until supplies could be cultivated."

Jak turned his gaze forward again, enhanced eyesight easily picking out the varying tunnels hidden in the darkness.

"He sounds like a pretty good guy." He conceded. "Better than Praxis. So why didn't he return? Ashelin means well, but she's being strangled by the council more and more. Not a one of them doesn't want the power Praxis had, and _all _of them hold claims on a par with him – they're nobility, after all."

The monk was silent for a short time. Eventually, she paused and turned to Jak, looking up slightly at the taller man.

"King Damas.. loves his people." She explained quietly. "When so many threw him aside out of fear and selfishness, it wounded him. He has since established a new power base, one whose loyalty and dependability he does not need to question. There is no ruling class, only warriors. Respect and obedience is earned, not inherited. Every man and woman, be they warrior, healer, builder or farmer, earns Damas' protection. And for every man or woman, he would personally fight. This, they know. It only serves to increase their devotion."

"Haven isn't worth saving." Jak observed quietly, having had similar thoughts himself, once or twice. He _had_ saved it, but one half of that was direct revenge against Praxis and the other was simply because he had friends living there he wanted to protect. If he hadn't had them.. if he'd known there was somewhere else to go.. he might have left Haven to its fate.

"He would not have been happy to see it fall." The monk corrected him gently. "It had been his family's home for generations. But it was not worth sacrificing his men over, not when the Metal Heads were still a threat. It would be ill-advised for him to invite enemies to attack from more than one direction.. and the nobility of Haven are nothing if not enemies."

She slanted a brief smile at him, then turned to continue walking.

"There was much rejoicing at the news of Praxis' and the Metal Head Leader's death." She commented. "For that alone, Damas would welcome you to Spargus. Especially as you sought no power for yourself through your actions. You sought only to protect."

I frowned.

"I sought revenge." I corrected curtly. "Kor killed Praxis when he got in the way. When Praxis died, I was furious that Kor had done it so quickly. I wanted him to suffer."

Her head tilted towards me, but she didn't turn and she didn't slow.

"And now?" She asked simply.

I paused for a second. The thirst for vengeance had slipped away. The fury, the grief, the desperate, insane lust for blood had all been washed away in a flood of Light Eco.

"Now.. I'm glad he's dead." I admitted grudgingly. "But.. I don't really feel anything else."

She nodded, as if of suspicions confirmed.

"Festering hatred would do you no favours." She said, almost approvingly. "I am glad to see your darkness conquered, in more ways than one."

She then stopped by a ladder leading up into a dark hole in the roof.

"This ladder opens just outside the city walls. Sig will arrive soon. I will inform the King of your safety and health."

She turned to face him fully, red eyes locking onto him. One white hand rose, making smooth, practiced signs in the air.

"I am Seem. I was glad to speak with you, Jak. Perhaps we will meet again soon."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and vanished into the gloom.

Drawing a breath, conscious of the complete lack of sarcastic commentary from his absent best friend, Jak turned to the ladder and started climbing.

That was one monk he wouldn't mind meeting again, either.

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Sig stood up as the hovercraft began to sink down. Daxter, clinging to his shoulder with the ease of long experience, was peering out the grimy window in apprehension.

"Uh.. you sure this is the right stop, big guy?" He asked nervously. "Because fur and sand don't go so well together. Fur and _heat_ don't go well together. Put them together and you've got one sand-encrusted ottsel-brick."

The door ground open, bits of sand gumming up the hydraulics. Sig squinted against the rush of hot wind sweeping into the small cargo hold, his skin welcoming the familiar heat.

Haven's wet, polluted air always seemed to cling to him, with only the desert ever managing to scour it away.

As he searched through the pre-dawn light for the trees marking the gateway into the city, his artificial eye caught a pulse of eco. The first reading he got seemed to indicate the very rare 'Light' Eco, which caused a bolt of worry to shoot down his spine.

Only the monks had access to reserves of Light Eco. For one to be waiting outside the safety of the city for him could mean very few things, none of them good.

He could only pray they hadn't been sent to inform him of Jak's demise.

A heartbeat later, his sensors indicated a pulse of Dark.. in the same location!

The predawn light was poor quality and the sand carried in the wind helped in obscuring the identity of the waiting person from both his eyes. Frowning darkly, he jumped the last few feet and trudged determinedly towards the hazy figure.

Daxter, silent after an attempt to speak had left him with a mouthful of sand, hunched down on his shoulder, face turned into Sig's scarf.

As Sig stepped closer, the form became clearer.

Definitely no monk. Looked more like a Wastelander. But he knew no Wastelander who..

Then the man's face came into view and Sig almost stopped short in delighted shock.

"Jak!" He roared, running the last few steps. "Damn, cherry, it's good to see you. Conscious, that is."

Jak grinned back at him, the expression more alight, more alive, than any Sig had seen on his face before.

"Back at you, big guy." The other man called, his back turned slightly to block the wind. "I was worried."

Sig scoffed loudly, even though they both knew the kid had a damned good reason to. Sig still being alive had everything to do with luck, not skill.

"I ai'nt so easy to get rid of." He growled, unable to stop a grin from spreading over his own features.

Any reply of Jak's, however, was cut short as an orange furball lunged the last few feet and wrapped his head in a hug.

There was a long, muffled rant directed into Jak's hair and the teen grinned again, one calloused hand reaching up to pat his little friend gently on the back.

"I missed you too, Dax. Let's head in, eh?"

Sig moved to walk side-by-side the shorter man, clapping one hand on his shoulder.

It was damned good to see him like this, alive and well.

It was only as the huge blast doors of the first gateway rumbled open, that the Wastelander remembered his discovery in Haven.

He turned to look at the shorter youth as discreetly as possible.

This man, this _warrior_.. Was Mar. Damas' _son_.

Strangely, seeing Jak in person settled his lingering doubts, rather than increase them. Knowing who he was somehow made him see him clearer. All those niggling characteristics that had seemed so familiar.. they were there, Damas' legacy.

The green roots of the kid's hair, a memory of a tiny baby with wild tufts of green tipped with yellow.

Even his eyes looked more familiar, taking on the clarity and colour of his mother, rather than the Eco-tainted darkness they'd held before.

Which reminded him..

"What the hell _happened_ to you, rookie?" He asked over the noise of the blast door closing.

Jak turned his curious gaze from the small fleet of Spargus' vehicles up to the larger Wastelander.

"A lot." He answered succinctly. "Some jackass tried to kill me and accidentally cured me instead."

Sig raised an eyebrow as they strolled towards the secondary door, ignoring the automated weapons aimed down at them.

"He still alive?" He asked, honestly curious.

Jak shrugged, irritation crossing his face. That was answer enough, if a little surprising. The Jak he'd known before would have ripped the guy apart.

"Huh. Well, restraint is a wonderful thing." He shared, unreasonably cheerful. Jak shot him a dark look and stalked through the inner doorway ahead of him.

Sig laughed out loud as he followed, drawing curious looks from nearby Wastelanders.

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Twenty minutes later, the two of them were seated against a fountain set into the wall of the Tower's lower levels. Damas, being King, was currently occupied with other duties and the two of them were waiting to go up and report – Jak for the first time.

At first, Sig had sat back - peacemaker at his feet – and simply watched as Daxter verbally abused his friend for leaving without him, then seamlessly followed up with a highly embellished report of the adventures and trials he'd gone through to find him again.

Jak just listened silently, an amused tilt to his eyes as he nodded solemnly when needed. When he did speak, it was short and almost fragmented, as though Daxter didn't need a full sentence in order to understand everything Jak was expressing, or maybe as if Jak didn't really need words to express them.

This shorthand form of communication was something he'd witnessed before, primarily when fighting in close quarters with Jak and his pal. He'd never really understood how it had originated. It was too cryptic, too broken, to be a simple result of familiarity. Childhood codes and slang-speech tended to be structured more logically, closer to the form of the language everybody spoke.

This.. this was almost primitive, as though Daxter could pick up pretty much anything Jak felt like saying out of thin air, and all Jak had to do was pipe up with a guiding or clarifying word here and there.

It was also utterly exclusive, leaving no opening for Sig to puzzle out their words.. well, at least until Daxter got started on a long-winded rant of some kind.. but then the topic tended to weave so much, it still wasn't very useful.

This boy.. this almost-man… this contradictory fighter who'd survived the unthinkable with not only his sanity intact, but most of his humanity too…

How was he supposed to tell Damas? Hell, how was he supposed to tell _Jak_ that he knew? Knew who he was, knew what had been _done_ to him…

Knew that his father was alive and looking for the teen's six year old counterpart.

There was a sudden note of anger in the voice beside him and Sig tuned in just in time to see Jak turn on him, eyes flashing, a deep purple flicker of something the younger man was supposedly cured of.

"You went to the fortress?" Jak hissed, the light-hearted banter and ease of posture from before vanished. In its place was a lithe, eco-enhanced warrior who was practically vibrating with furious aggression.

And there was a reminder Sig probably needed.

Jak _hadn't_ come out of that place unscathed. That chair and those men had taken a boy barely into his teens and broken him, putting the jagged pieces together again into a killing machine… one who just happened to retain the ability to reason, retain a sense of self..

And one who could probably put the credit for his humanity at the furry little feet of the ottsel watching him worriedly.

Oh, precursors… Maybe he _shouldn't_ tell Damas. It would break his heart, to know what those bastards did to his little boy..

"I'm sorry, Jak." He apologised sincerely, turning to look the man in the eye, keeping his own body language as non-confrontational as possible. He knew that Dark Jak was all about instinct and reaction.. he didn't know how much of that bled over when Jak was just angry, but the less subtle encouragement he _gave_ that aggression, the better.

"I truly am. I swear to you, the only reason I went there was to look for some kind of cure. You were dying from the overload of Dark Eco. I.. didn't know what else to do for you."

Jak was still angry, but Sig could see that his honesty was being recognised. The dark flicker in his eyes was abruptly snuffed out, and the blue of his eyes lightened a little.

Jak drew a deep breath, then let it out, his eyes shifting the to water tricking behind them. The silvery-clear liquid ran down into a deep blue-tiled basin, giving the impression of chilled water despite the heat of the desert air.

"Dax said.. you saw records."

The words were forced out, verbal tools of communication with no emotion behind them.

Sig nodded.

"Yep. Then I melted them. Bad enough that I saw them. I figured they weren't nobody else's business."

There was a long silence.

"Thanks." Jak said finally, grudgingly.

Sig shook his head again, his eyes on his hands.

"Naw, don't thank me, rookie. Any man worth the air he breathes would've done the same."

Jak snorted and looked up, his head slightly turned away so only one blue eye caught his gaze.

"I don't know many men like that." Jak said bluntly.

"Well, then." Sig said carefully. "Maybe you'll like it here. Take it from a native, cherry – this here's the place where all the decent people live. Hard workin', loyal, dependable.. and those who ain't don't last long."

"So I hear." Jak murmured. "Seem said everyone here used to live in Haven. That they either left or were thrown out."

"You know Seem?" Sig asked in surprise. Jak just nodded.

"Well, she's not wrong. And.. are you really cured?"

Jak hesitated.

"Kinda.." He temporised. "The dark.. it's still there. But it's kinda balanced out now."

"With what?" Sig asked curiously. Jak threw him a half-grin, the mildly-familiar expression lacking the sarcastic edge it usually carried.

"Light Eco." Jak said easily, as though that didn't go against pretty much every observed law of eco-behaviour.. _ever_!

"Well I'll be a concussed Yakkow.." Sig breathed, not disbelieving him for a second.  
"Good for you, Jak. Did you pick up any more nifty little abilities to go with it?"

Jak chuckled. "No. But I don't need any. I'm just happy to feel mostly-normal again."

Sig paused for a moment, judging Jak's current good mood as he glanced up at the people waiting before them. They were being called into the throne room.. They didn't have long to go.

Should he say something before they went in? No. No, Damas should know first, if for no other reason than the fact that _he_ was King and Jak.. good friend that he was, was only the son of the King.. By rank alone, Damas had to be told first.

It made his stomach tighten with a sense of betrayal, but he knew he'd get the same feeling if he told Jak before Damas, so he'd just have to suck it the hell up.

There was no reason he couldn't aim to get a little more information, though.. maybe even help encourage Jak to think about the issue himself…

He cleared his throat.

"Er.. Jak. When I first brought you in here, I found something on you. A certain seal. Daxter tells me it's yours.. not that you bought it or anything, but that it belongs to you, to your bloodline."

Daxter, who'd been dozing to the side – Jak's fingers rubbing behind his ears – now sat up, eyes sharp, and watched both men carefully.

Jak shot the ottsel a half-curious, half-exasperated look, as though silently asking him what _else_ he and Sig had seen fit to gossip about.

"Yeah." Jak answered cautiously, his own eyes suspicious at the sudden change in topic. "It's a long story."

"I think chillipepper gave me the gist of it." Sig replied, not letting the topic go.  
"Time travel, right?"

Jak shifted back slightly, his eyes narrowing.

"Why do you want to know?" He asked lowly.

Sig dropped his eyes. It was an incredible story, Daxter had told him. One he even believed.. but he needed more. He needed proof.. He needed something more than gut instinct and hope to give Damas.

"It's important, Jak." He said quietly. "I need to know who can verify he was you and how."

Jak got to his feet.

"Samos, the green sage." He said, words clipped. "Seeing as how Daxter's word obviously wasn't good enough. Samos took the kid back to the past, where he raised him by the name Jak – me. Years later, Samos, Keira, Dax and I accidentally open a rift gate and got pulled forwards again. We open the past to the Metal Heads, starting the war that still continues today and I get jumped by Krimson Guards and spend two years in a cage."

Low, hard words had given way to a dark, angry growl.

"Any more questions, Sig?" Jak all but snarled. "Maybe: Why didn't I step forward as heir to the throne of Haven? Why I didn't do anything to try and fix that cesspit up again? Well I'll tell you.

It was because I was too busy feeling _relieved_ that Ashelin stepped in to take command of the city I hated, to get angry over how she'd seized power just as blatantly as her daddy had done before her."

Jak levelled a glare at the older man.

"As far as I'm concerned, the House of Mar is _dead_." He spat, turning on his heel to leave.

Then he froze, turning slowly back around to stare at Sig, his eyes wide.

"The House of Mar.. That was the royal line of Haven.." He whispered, eyes locked on to Sig's resigned expression. "But the King.. he was thrown out.. not killed. Damas. Damas is the King of the Wasteland.. and he used to be King of Haven too, didn't he…?"

Even Daxter couldn't find something to say to that, as Jak's face drained of colour, realisation that he had family alive warring with the shock of the sudden awareness of his position. Not heir to a dead line, but living heir to the living King. No longer alone in the world, but for a best friend starting his own life, but with a Father he couldn't remember from his youth… one who had seen him at his worst.. shaking with withdrawal, tainted with Dark Eco, snarling at that monk like some animal…

"Oh no…" He breathed, begged. "No.."

"Jak.." Sig started, getting to his feet and watching with worried eyes as Jak just stumbled backwards away from him.

"Just… no. Sig." Jak said, sounding almost fatalistically resigned. "It doesn't matter. I'm not him.. not anymore. I'm different now. I'm not his son. You can't tell him."

Sig just looked at him steadily, a crease in his brow the only indication of his turmoil.

"Jak.. the seal. When you touch it.. does it glow?" he asked quietly.

Jak closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Yeah." He muttered. "But that's just blood. There's more to a person than blood. And I'm not really a person. Not anymore."

With that, he turned again and headed for the exit, stride just short of breaking into a jog, tension visible in every line of his body.

Sig looked down at Daxter, who was staring up at him.

"I don't.. understand.." Sig said frankly. "I thought he'd at least be a _little_ happy to find out.."

Daxter sighed, his gaze flickering from the retreating form of his best friend, to the loyal friend of theirs before him.

Loyalty was a rare commodity in this time. That alone made him deserving of a little understanding.

"I told you before.. that Jak wasn't the same after the Baron got to him." Daxter offered sadly, his ears drooping. "One of the worst things damaged was his self-opinion. For a long time, he hated himself. Intensely. Scarily. The only thing he hated more was the Baron. Not even Errol scored before it. He hated what he was, how he thought, how he reacted, how he killed.. his Dark, his words, his desire to end Praxis, his contacts.. everything about his new existence had been twisted until all he knew was hate and pain and even when he escaped the prison, he still carried it with him. There was just enough of the old Jak left, to realise how much of himself that he'd lost."

The ottsel scooped some water out of the fountain and drank, grief and lingering fury at the world that had done this to his friend making his throat dry.

"He got a bit better, over time. I did everything I could to make him happy, even if he just smiled a little, just once a day. I tell you, some days I was so desperate that I wasn't above dropping something heavy on my foot or walking into walls.. anything to try and get a reaction out of him."

Sig sat back down again, his complete attention on the animal.

"He's never seemed that bad.. not to me. The longer I knew him, the better he seemed. I just thought he was opening up a little."

Daxter shook his head.

"He got a little better – enough for suicide not to be the first thing on his mind every morning – with me living with him. I'd sleep on him, travel on him, talk constantly in his ear, fight with him, race with him.. every second I was there, reassuring him that _I_ still liked him, still cared about him. He wasn't a monster to _me_. After the underworld accepted him, he got a little bit better still. People looked up to him there, he was a guy doing the impossible, spitting in the baron's face and making real changes. He'd saved several of their asses and even when rumours started about his Dark side, most of them still stuck by him, trusting the Jak they knew over the Jak that was whispered about."

"I see." Sig rumbled lowly.

Daxter nodded.

"By the time you showed up, Jak had loosened up enough that your honesty and reliability managed to get through to him. He wasn't about to propose to you or anything, but he liked you and that was more than most people would ever get."

"But sometimes.. people like you and me aren't enough. The people of Haven don't matter.. their opinions change from day to day. Torn and Ashelin know who he is and when they didn't even bring up the notion of who would take control and why, he knew that they were just as self-serving and hypocritical as the rest of them. They had noble intentions – they wanted to make Haven a better place – but their open duplicity was reason enough for Jak to turn his back on them. As far as he's concerned, you don't even get one chance. You just get tolerated. Do anything to prove you can't be trusted and you never will be."

Dax drew a deep breath.

"The girl he'd liked since we were kids turned out unable to accept Jak's Dark self. Nice girl, Keira, but a little too idealistic.. and when her rosy view of how the good guys should behave got spoilt, she took it out on Jak. Samos raised Jak, and yet he had lied to him his whole life. Samos knew what Jak would go through and let it happen and then brushed it off as if it didn't matter. Hell, the saggy lump of fungus even yelled at him, wanting to know what took Jak so long to rescue him."

"Bottom line.. the way Jak sees himself is pretty skewed. Even after all the people he's helped, all the good he's done, he can't see what we can. He can't see the good stuff left, only the good stuff he lost. And finding out he has a father.. well.. it's bad enough being used and rejected by friends and adopted family.. I don't think he could take it if his Father rejected him too."

Sig glared.

"Damas wouldn't!" He protested. "He's a good man and he already admires what he's heard of Jak."

Daxter gave him a hard look.

"Oh really?" The ottsel demanded. "And when he finds out that this nobody-soldier with the freak Eco powers is actually his _son_? When he finds out that the boy Praxis twisted and deformed into a Dark Eco Killing Machine is what's left of his five year old child? Will he be so happy then? Will he welcome Jak with open arms? Will he love him?"

Sig opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say to that? The furball had a point. Several of them, in fact.

"You're right." He said heavily. "But he still has to know. This is his _son_ Daxter. He's been desperate to find him and now he's here, no matter his age or the trials in his life. He has a right to know."

Daxter deflated.

"I know." He conceded. "I know. But my first priority is Jak. And you owe it to the guy not to let him get hurt. Go and tell Damas, if you want. But if he reacts badly, I want you to get Jak out of here. No matter what Damas says or orders, you gotta keep Jak safe."

Sig nodded slowly. He didn't like that scenario but.. if it came to pass. He'd go along with it.

"Agreed." He said softly. "But I'm tellin' you. Damas is a good man. It won't be needed."

Daxter shrugged.

"We'll see, big guy." He said simply, before scampering off to track down his wayward friend.

Sig stared after him, thinking on all he had discovered, on all he had to report.

"Sig?" He glanced up. The Wastelander on clerk duty today – she'd been injured in a recent skirmish with the Marauders – gestured to him.

It was his turn to see the King.

It was time to take out the seal and explain to his old friend that he had lost his little boy, but still found his son.

He had to tell the King a story and somehow make him believe it, without dragging every person involved in it in for interrogation.

He had to pray that Damas wouldn't react badly, that he'd at least try to accept the reality of his older, warrior son.

For Jak's sake, as well as his Father's… he had to find a way to allow each of them to accept the other.

He nodded and strode towards the lift, peacemaker in hand.

He'd do his best.

_Precursors, please let my best be enough._

J&D J&D J&D

The END! Finally!

Sequel is posted!

Once again, my sincere apologies to everyone who waited so long and so patiently (or impatiently). My sincere thanks for the persistent encouragement I've received, despite being so damned unreliable.

I hope the ending of this story was acceptable for you people who started it with me. My style has changed so much since the beginning that any end I considered writing then, would be much different to the ends I considered writing now.

I'm so happy this story is finally done and I hope I made a few of you happy too.

Cheers.


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